Someone Like me (10 page)

‘What have you done to your hair now?’ she asked. She stepped back and studied it. ‘Actually, it doesn’t look  too  bad.  I  never  could  get  used  to that red. It wasn’t you somehow. It suits you short, but maybe try a hairdresser next time eh?’

After dinner I watched TV for a bit,
then went upstairs to check my emails before I went to bed. I clicked onto Sadie’s site, but seeing her new hairstyle in her profile picture put me in a bad mood. I turned the computer off and got ready for bed, exhausted after such a long day. Just as I was dropping off my phone buzzed. It was a text from Michael.

See you tomorrow at the Eurostar arrivals. I can’t wait to see you. I have a surprise for you.

Great!
Didn’t he realise that meeting my father for the first time in my memory was going to be one hell of a  surprise  already? I  sincerely  hoped  he  didn’t  have anything else to spring on me. I turned my phone to silent and closed my eyes.

CHAPTER 18

I cursed my bag as it wedged itself in the way of the ticket barrier. I was thinking about Mum. She’d told me she had something important to tell me at the last minute as she waved me off at St
Pancras, and left me wondering for the whole journey what it was she wanted to say. I scanned the people waiting behind the barriers, several men holding up pieces of cards with names on. Then I spotted Michael. I stopped walking, my legs suddenly feeling a bit wobbly. Even though the photograph that had been displayed in all the papers was burnt into my brain, it was still a shock to see him. But it wasn’t just that that was making my heart clatter in my chest, it was the two policemen carrying machine guns standing behind him that prevented my feet from moving. Was I too late?

Then Michael raised his hand to wave and the policemen moved off. My stomach relaxed a little. I pushed my ticket into the gate and
manoeuvred my bag through the barrier. Then he was at my side, taking my bag, his hand on my arm. I shook it off.

‘Jasmine,
how was your journey?’

‘Fine,’ I said.

He took a step backwards. ‘Let me look at you. You’ve changed your hair colour.’

‘I’m always changing my hair
colour.’ The dark clusters around his chin were new too. A disguise?

‘You’ve got a beard.’

His face was a lot more creased than I expected. He had a tanned, weather beaten look about him.

‘It suits you. Jasmine… come on, let’s get a taxi.’ I
followed him out of the station, weaving through people, more heavily armed policemen. French conversation fluttered through the air all around me.

Outside the station was very noisy. The road was busy with traffic and people were seated outside a row of cafes on the opposite side of the road. Michael wheeled my bag around to the side away from the crowds and the next thing I knew I was being bundled into a taxi. Michael sat in the front and the driver struck up a conversation which involved a lot of waving of hands on the driver’s part. My heart lurched every time he let go of the steering wheel, not helped by the craziness of the other cars on the road. Everything was moving very fast. I tried to take in the sights but couldn’t concentrate. I studied the back of Michael’s head. Every now and then he tried to catch my eye in the mirror. I stared resolutely out of the window. I
recognised Notre Dame, and the metro signs, and we must have passed a hundred cafes, all identical looking. I saw a girl drinking a green liquid, which I recognised as being from the chapter on food and drink in our school textbook.

‘Are you OK Jasmine?’ Michael was asking. I nodded. ‘It’s not
far now. We’re staying at a  hotel  near the Bastille area.’

We lurched through a few narrow streets, the driver impatiently honking on his horn. I had never experienced such noisy traffic before. Every now and then he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel and cursed loudly. I was glad I didn’t know
what he was saying.

We drove slowly along an energetic street full of small shops and cafes, then turned into a less busy narrow road, where the driver parked the car, leapt
out and took my case out of the boot. Michael handed some notes to the driver and they shook hands. The street was made up of very tall old looking buildings. It was notably quiet after the hustle and bustle just around the corner.

‘This is us,’ said Michael, pointing to a large impersonal looking building, with hundreds of little windows looking down at us. ‘Come on up. Sara can’t wait to meet you. Caroline told you about Sara didn’t
she?’

Michael put his key in the tall
impersonal door and turned. He stepped inside.

I stayed outside the door.

‘Sara? I thought her name was Nora?’ A strange expression flittered across his face. ‘I suppose you mean your wife. The one you abandoned us for.’

Concern erased the baffled expression from Michael’s face.

‘Jasmine,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t really like that. There are things I need to tell you, but let’s get you settled in first.’ He took a step towards me, coming out of the doorway. ‘You don’t know how happy I am to see you.’

I shrugged and he turned away and I followed behind him and waited while he checked me in at the reception. He spoke fast fluent French and although I didn’t want to be, I was impressed. Then we stepped into a tiny lift, where I was much closer to him than I was comfortable with. I held tightly onto my case until the lift had creaked it’s way impossibly slowly to the fifth floor.

‘Come  and  meet  Sara,  then  I’ll  show  you to your room. We’re only a couple of doors along from you.’

I walked along in a sort of trance. I couldn’t quite believe that I was really with my father, and he was behaving like it was all completely normal. I pulled my bag into the doorway, letting it prop the door half open.

The room was large, plain and very white, with a double bed, comfy chair, a flat screen television and not much else in it. A tall woman was standing by the window.

‘Jasmine,’ she said, ‘I’m so pleased to meet you.’ She was incredibly pretty, with shoulder length dark hair. She was wearing a neat skirt suit and a scarf around her neck. Her eyes and skin were dark brown. She spoke English with a heavy French accent. ‘Please come and sit down.’

I sat down on the chair. It was soft and squishy and I sank down into it, suddenly exhausted.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ she asked.

‘Just water please,’ I said. She opened a tiny fridge which was hidden under the TV, poured out a glass and set it down at my side. I looked around.

Michael hovered by the side of the bed. ‘I know this is a very strange situation,’ he looked at Sara – ‘for all of us. I’m going to show you to your room and let you relax for a bit,
then we’ll all have something to eat and try and get to know one another. I want you to feel at home here.’

‘Michael,’ Sara said. ‘When are you going to tell Jasmine…?’

Michael cast a warning look at Sara and surprise registered on her face. He shook his head.

‘We’ll talk later,’ he said, raising his voice. She looked uncomfortable.

‘Do you need to let Caroline know you are here?’  he asked me. ‘You can use the telephone in your room.’

‘It’s OK, I’ll text her later.’ I said. ‘I’m a bit tired.’

‘Let me show you to your room,’ said Sara. ‘I’ll help you with your bag.’

She took my case, which was leaning against the wall and frowned at the weight of it. ‘It’s heavy!’ she exclaimed.

‘I’ll do it,’ I said, taking the handle from her. At that moment there was a knock at the door. Sara pushed past Michael, opened the door and spoke rapidly in French. I couldn’t see who she was speaking to. She sounded agitated. She came back into the room followed by a young girl.

‘But
Maman,’ the girl was saying as she came in, stopping mid-sentence when she caught sight of me. She looked about my age; she was slim, wearing a dark jacket and jeans. A white headscarf was draped around her head. She had the same dark skin as Sara. She stared at me and her mouth fell open in surprise. I stared back, feeling suddenly dizzy. Who was this girl? There was something familiar about her. We stared at each other. Michael came back into the room.

‘What are you doing here?’ His raised voice made me jump.

‘Did you really expect me to stay away?’ she said. Michael looked embarrassed.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ I asked. I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl. She smiled at me.

‘Hello Jasmine,’ she said. ‘I’m Malika. I’m your half-sister.’

chapter 19

Something exploded inside my head. I pushed past the girl and ran out of the door, along the corridor, down all the stairs and out into the street. I hurtled blindly past a few doorways until I collided with a man. He shouted incomprehensible words at me and I ran again, turning into an alleyway, where I tried to control my breathing. My chest hurt. I took in several deep breaths until I could stand up straight. A shuffling noise behind me made me turn quickly, my heartbeat picking up pace.

Malika. My sister.

    ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Don’t run away again. I’m your friend.’

Looking at her up close gave me an extraordinary sensation. Her eyes were dark brown, and shaped just like Michael’s. Gran always said I had Michael’s eyes. Wisps of dark hair stuck out from under her scarf.

‘Come with me,’ she said, ‘there’s a little park around the
corner, we can stay there for a moment.’

I followed her, not knowing what else to do, somehow
drawn to her. She led me back out onto the main street, where we crossed the road and went into a small park opposite. It was tiny, but the bench we sat on was in the sun and was opposite an ice cream kiosk.

‘Wait there,’ she said, then disappeared off to the kiosk
,  coming  back  with  two  bottles  of  cold water.

I held the refreshingly cold bottle against my burning cheek, before taking a welcome sip.

‘You didn’t know about me, did you?’

I shook my head, my eyes filling with tears. Rage was making my head pound.

‘I should never have come,’ I said.

‘Don’t say that.’ She turned around on the bench to face me, pulling her legs up under her. ‘If you hadn’t come we would never have met. You’re my sister. I’ve always wanted a sister.’

Her eyes roamed over my face, looking into my eyes, as if searching for answers.

    ‘How old are you?’ I asked.

‘Fourteen.’

I bit down on my lip until it hurt.

‘And you?’ she asked.

‘Fifteen.’

I could see she was doing the same calculations in her head as I was doing in mine.

‘How long have you known about me?’ I asked.

‘For about six months. But now everything makes sense. Papa has been strange for the last few weeks, acting as if something was about to happen. Yesterday he told me that you were coming here.’

Hearing her say ‘Papa,’ like that cut into me.

‘Aren’t you angry?’ I asked.

‘There are too many things in this world to be angry about. I wish he had told me earlier but I can’t change the past. I’m just so glad you are here.’

‘Why has he kept me a secret? I don’t understand.’ I stood up and started pacing up and down, the anger returning. ‘Why did he tell you and not me?’
A  thought suddenly occurred to me. I sat back down again, deflated. ‘Does my mum know about this?’ I shivered. Despite  the  sunshine  a  breeze had sprung up. Malika tucked a strand of hair back under her headscarf.

‘Why are you wearing a headscarf?’

‘I’m a Muslim,’ she said.

‘But your mum isn’t wearing one.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s my choice.’

I put my head in my hands.

‘This is mad. What am I doing here?’ The sun had gone behind a cloud now. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself.

‘You’re shivering,’
Malika said. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel.’

‘When did you get here?’

‘Only this morning. We’ve been staying with mum’s friends in Lille for the past month. This is only my second visit to Paris.’ She smiled at me. I hesitated, then smiled back.

‘Come on,’ she said, getting up off the bench.

‘Wait,’ I said.

‘What is it?’

I closed my eyes, then opened them slowly.

    ‘This isn’t a dream,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t believe it only
… you look like Michael. It must be true. I really do have a sister.’

    She laughed. ‘Of course it isn’t a dream. If it is I don’t ever want to wake up.’ She held out her hand. I stared at it for a moment,
then allowed her to enclose her fingers around mine and pull me up.

CHAPTER 20

My room had a view over the rooftops of Paris, lots of different shapes. A large gold coloured statue standing up high dominated the skyline. I lay down on the bed, shattered. The window was slightly open and the occasional voice drifted up from the street below. I couldn’t be bothered to unpack. Malika’s room was next door, and Michael and Sara’s the other side. There was a knock at the door. I dragged my heavy limbs over to the door and opened it. Malika followed me back in.

‘Do you want to come downstairs? There’s a café – you must be hungry.
Maman and Papa are down there.’

My appetite had disappeared the moment I first set eyes on Michael.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let me just do something with my hair.’ I took out my hair brush and attempted to drag some sort of style to my uneven locks. ‘What’s your hair like?’

She unfastened her scarf. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders, thick black and wavy.

‘It’s lovely,’ I said.

‘It’s boring,’ she said. ‘Yours is . . . unusual, different.’

‘Stop being polite. I took out my bad mood on it yesterday. It was red, but I changed it back to brown.’

    Yesterday!
That seemed like a lifetime away.

‘What is it like where you live? Do you have a stepdad?’

‘Don’t you know anything about me?’ She shook her head, refastening her scarf back around her head. It suited her. I wished I had a scarf to cover mine up with.

‘There’s just me and Mum, we live in London. Michael left her when I was a baby. She doesn’t have anything to do with him. She’s working in New York for a few days.’

‘It’s really strange,’ she said, ‘that your mother would allow you to come, don’t you think? Did she mind?’

‘It was my decision. I’ve always hated him too, for leaving us, but when he said he wanted to see me – I’ve always been intrigued, wondering what he was like, why he left, and …’ I bit down on my lip. I couldn’t tell her my real reason for wanting to see him . . . ‘well he is my dad.’

‘Did he get in touch with your Mum, or was it the other way around?’

‘Michael got in touch with Mum because he needed some papers. He came down to London to see her. I know that for a fact, it was in May.’

‘I wonder if Maman knew.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment, then jumped to her feet. ‘Shall we go downstairs?’ We waited outside the lift. I watched her, fascinated. She turned to me.

‘I’m glad you
know, that you came. I want to know everything about you.’ I wished she wasn’t being so nice. I didn’t want to like her but it was hard not to.

I checked my phone on the way down in the lift, but
there was only one message from Mum asking me if I’d arrived safely. I sent a quick reply. Sara and Michael were seated in the café, talking. Sara stood up as we approached.

‘Jasmine, how are you feeling? Would you like
something to eat?’ I shook my head. ‘Just a coke please.’                Malika   asked  for  a  sandwich  and  Sara  placed the orders.

‘I am so sorry,’ she said, ‘it must have been
a terrible shock for you, to find out that you have a sister like that.’ She glared at Michael and I realised she was annoyed with him too. He poured himself a glass of water, then came over when he saw me looking at him.

‘Jasmine,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry – for everything – maybe one day you’ll be able to forgive me.’

A waiter arrived with three large baguette type sandwiches on a tray.

‘Mine’s cheese,’ said
Malika, ‘we can share if you want.’

My stomach had started growling at the sight of the food. I was hungry after all.
Malika pushed the sandwich towards me and I took a bite of it, the soft brie melting in my mouth. Sara began to outline the ideas she had for places for us to visit. As she talked I took the opportunity to watch Michael. The beard made him look older. Had he grown it to make himself look different? He looked jumpy, uncomfortable.

   As I watched him it was hard to keep images of Miriam Jackson from flashing into my mind. Why hadn’t he stayed to report the crime?

   My phone buzzed. Mum. She was  off to  America the next day. As I started to reply my fingers froze mid-air – did Mum know about Malika? I stared down at the screen, anxious for none of them to see how I was suddenly feeling. Mum’s face as she waved me off at the Eurostar terminal filled my mind, she was trying to tell me something important … surely she couldn’t have known?  

             
‘Does Mum know about Malika?’ The words blurted out   of   my  mouth.  I   watched   Michael’s   face.  He glanced at Sara, then nodded. I tried to breathe, but the air caught in my throat.

‘Jasmine, of course she knew.’

‘What do you mean,
of course
?’ I spat the last two words at him. All the hatred I’d ever felt for him came rushing to the surface.

‘Jasmine,’ Sara said, reaching out to touch my arm. I shook it off.

‘I’m tired,’ I said. I stood up and left the room.

Mum rang later that evening.

     ‘Hey Jas,’ she said. ‘How was the journey?’

     ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

     ‘Tell you what, dear? Jasmine what are you talking about?’

     ‘About my half-sister of course! It’s just been the tiniest shock! How long have you known?’

     She sighed. ‘I’ve always known. Your father was away working in France and he met Sara on one of those trips. I knew straight away there was something going on; he told me he’d end it but then he found out she was pregnant. I threw him out. You were only tiny. How could he?’ I heard the
familiar  sound of  a  bottle being opened, liquid sliding into a glass.

    ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

A long silence filled the miles between us.

    ‘I had a breakdown after he’d left. I was still in love with him and I was devastated. Your Gran – his own mother – was so disgusted with him she moved in with me to help look after you. I shut out all knowledge of Michael and his new
family, it was the only way I could cope. I know I should have told you, especially when I knew you were going to meet him, but, well, I ran out of time.’ Her voice trailed off. She took a large swallow.

‘By   the   way,’  
she  said,  ‘a  boy  called  round  this afternoon.’

‘A boy?
  Who?’

‘He said his name was…
hang on I’ve written it down somewhere…’ I heard her put the phone down then a crash as something dropped to the floor and Mum cursing in the background.

‘Mum?’

‘I’m here,’ she said, her words slightly slurred. ‘Khaled,’ she said, ‘Khaled, that’s who he was. He’s very handsome Jasmine, you’ve been keeping him quiet haven’t you?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Mum,’ I said. ‘He’s in Mark’s band.’

‘There’s no need to be like that. Oh look at the time, I’ll have to go now darling, Clare wants me to call her before I go. Goodnight darling, sleep well. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

I was awoken by a whooshing noise from outside in the street. I had no idea where I was. I propped myself up in bed and looked around the unfamiliar room. Everything was white. I was in France. I lay back down again, memories flooding in. Someone tapped lightly on the door. I opened it to reveal Malika carrying two cups in her hand.

‘Room service,’ she said. I couldn’t help smiling, I had a sister. She sat down on the end of the bed and handed me a paper cup.

‘There’s a McDonalds on the corner.’ she said.

I propped myself up and drank some coffee. It tasted good.

‘What would you like to do today? Maman says I can show you around, be a tourist. Would you like that?’

‘Just the two of us?’
I asked.

She nodded. ‘Papa wants you to have some time to yourself, think about things a bit. But if you want to be on your own…’

‘No,’ I said.

‘He says you have friends in Paris, on the Champs-Elysées, do you want to meet up with them?’

I shook my head, embarrassed. I’d forgotten that I had said that.

‘Another day, maybe.’

‘It’s very smart around there you know,’ said
Malika, ‘who are they?’

‘Forget it,’ I said sharply. A shadow crossed her eyes and I hated myself.

‘I’d rather get to know you,’ I said. ‘Where are we going today?’

Malika
  didn’t  know  Paris  well,  but  she knew a lot about it. We spent the whole day getting on and off the tourist bus, tramping around looking at buildings. I saw the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and the Louvre, which I recognised from the cover of my school text book. After a couple of hours I was hungry and fed up with walking. Malika suggested we take some food down to the river. We pooled our money and bought two ham and cheese baguettes and two cans of coke, then went down a steep staircase to the side of the river Seine. The river was busy, there was a constant stream of tourist boats going by.

‘I like walking,’ she said. ‘I walk around a lot, sit
outside in cafes and watch people. Paris is great for that.’ She opened her bag and pulled out a sketchpad. ‘This is what I like to do,’ she said shyly, ‘would you like to see?’

She  
passed  me  the  sketchpad  which  was  full  of sketches of buildings, people, and street scenes.

‘You did these?’ I asked. ‘They’re brilliant. Look at that, it’s where we are now.’ I pointed to a drawing of the river, the old majestic buildings on the opposite bank. She nodded. ‘I did that last time I was here.’ She took the book and flicked through to a drawing of a man and handed it to me. It was Michael. I gasped. The likeness was amazing. I closed the book quickly.

‘It’s difficult for you, coming here, isn’t it?’ she asked, ‘seeing Michael again, finding out about me.’

‘We could have been a normal family,’ I said, fixing my eyes on a passing boat, people waving, getting smaller and smaller as they disappeared from sight. ‘Mum, Dad and me. I used to moan about not having a brother or sister but I had my friends to play with. It was Mum that was difficult to deal with. He ruined her dream of a family life; simple as that. It was easier for her to banish him from her memory. Mum wanted me to forget that I had a Dad and I wanted to remember him. Mum never got over him leaving. Everything is his fault. She works too much, she drinks too much,
she’s never at home. And then Gran got ill.’ I swallowed hard, flinching at the memory. ‘So now it’s just me and Mum rattling around together. Then out of the blue she tells me Michael has been in touch! Can you imagine?’ I stood up and started pacing up and down, agitated. ‘And now I arrive here and discover that he has another daughter, barely younger than me.’ My voice was getting louder but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘He was seeing your mum when he was with us… no wonder Mum hates him.’

I sat back down on the bench and put my head in my hands.
Malika put her arm around me. I shook it off.

‘Jasmine,’ she said. ‘Papa is a coward. I think he kept
away  for  your mum’s sake – he knew it was too painful

for
her. I always suspected he was hiding something.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘He always refused to speak about the time before he met Maman. I knew he had been married before, that’s all. I don’t know anything about his parents, where he came from in England, it’s all so strange. I have so many unanswered questions. That’s why my identity is so important to me. I need to know who I am, it’s all I have.’

‘I get that,’ I said, thinking of Sadie for the first time in ages. ‘Sometimes I have no idea who I am.’

She put her hand on my arm and this time I let it rest there. ‘We need each other,’ she said. ‘I’m starting to realise that Papa creates his own problems wherever he goes, so try not to take it personally.’

A passenger boat went by, a line of children waving from the top deck.
Malika waved back.

We spent the afternoon at the Pompidou Centre, the strangest yet most interesting building I had ever seen. Afterwards we sat outside, watching a street busker entertaining the crowd.
Malika got her sketch pad out, stroking her pencil across the page, bringing the crowd to life. Today she was wearing a red headscarf. A couple of people stood behind her, watching her draw. I was proud of her. She chewed on her lip, concentrating hard, as she recreated the scene in front of her, oblivious to the people observing her.

By the end of the afternoon I had come to a decision. I was going to tell
Malika everything about Michael  and  his  appearance  on 
Crimewatch
and what I had  uncovered  so  far.  There were too many questions going round in my head and I had a feeling my sister would be able to help me fill in the answers.