The Other Us: the RONA winning perfect second chance romance to curl up with. Fiona Harper

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СКАЧАТЬ a loud noise above my head. My eyes pop open. The roof is low, only a couple of feet away, and I can hear someone walking around on it. I try and focus on the ceiling as I hear someone calling my name.

      It’s Jude. Jude is calling my name.

      He sounds happy, which is nice, but what’s he doing here in my flat with Becca? I’m not sure she’s ready to face him yet; her loyalty to Dan is still so strong. And how has my bed become a top bunk overnight, my face so close to the ceiling? I also don’t remember that skylight.

      ‘Meg?’ I hear him yell. He’s no longer above me now, but further away. I can hear a door banging, other noises I can’t identify. ‘We’ve brought breakfast!’

      Breakfast. Now there’s something I can get a handle on, I think, as I stare up through the rectangular skylight with the rounded edges. The sky beyond is blue and crystal clear and I suddenly notice there’s a silver handle at the bottom. I reach for it and push it open with my fingertips.

      Instantly, the smell of river water hits me, which is weird, because the Thames is at least half a mile away from the flat I share with Becca, and even so, this water smells fresh and blue, not muddy and eel-grey. Without thinking about it, I put my feet on my mattress and stand up, pushing the skylight open with my head as I do so. What I see outside causes my legs to lose all co-ordination and I crumple not only back down onto the mattress but off the bed and I end up in a tangled heap on a hard wooden floor. I seem to be jammed into a tiny triangular space I don’t recognise.

      There’s the sound of footsteps rushing towards me, echoing as if we’re in a large box, and then the door opens and I see three faces peering down at me. One of them is Jude’s.

      ‘Are you OK?’ he says as he offers me a hand.

      I latch onto his upside-down face. It’s the only thing that’s made sense since I woke up. ‘I think so,’ I mutter. ‘Don’t know what happened …’

      ‘You fell out of bed, you muppet,’ the girl behind Jude says. Her long, wavy, blonde hair is hanging past her face as she smiles at me, slightly bent over.

      I grab Jude’s hand and he pulls me up. As I find some balance on my wobbly legs, I hear the other person – a guy – say, ‘Well, it was quite a heavy session last night …’

      Jude chuckles. ‘And we now have empirical evidence Meg can’t hold her G&Ts.’

      I frown at him as I pull my ‘Choose Life’ nightshirt further down my thighs with my free hand. I hate gin and tonic. And I certainly didn’t have any last night. And who are these people, anyway, grinning at me like loons, like we’re all part of some in-joke?

      But then I think about what I saw outside.

      Instead of chimney pots and TV aerials, low-hanging grey cloud and leafy beech trees, there is blue sky – lots of it – streaked with wispy clouds. And there are mountains. There aren’t supposed to be any mountains in Putney.

      I look down at my bare thighs again and that’s when it hits me.

      I’ve done it again.

      Moved. Jumped. Shifted. Whatever you want to call it …

      My knees get a strange crunchy feeling, like fresh cotton wool balls out the packet, and I head floorwards a second time. It’s only Jude’s grip on my arm that saves me.

      ‘Come on, you …’ he says and plants a kiss on top of my head before hauling me through a narrow door. I stub my toe on the raised threshold and yelp. Jude and the onlookers just laugh again. ‘We’ve got cheese and rolls and meat. And Cameron is going to make his famous espresso if we can get the galley stove to light.’

      I sit on a bench with a padded cushion and all the pieces of information that have been hurtling at me since I opened my eyes suddenly snap together to form a complete picture: I’m on a boat. A sailboat. And the room I was in is the cabin at the front, hence the strange shape, and the skylight is actually a hatch. I feel myself relax a little and I breathe out.

      Are we in the South of France? That’s where Jude said he was going after the end of term. I think about the mountain I saw, towering over the marina so high it seemed as if it might topple down on us at any moment. I think about the shape of the buildings on the shore, their square towers and terracotta-tiled roofs.

      No, not France. Italy, maybe. Although how we ended up here is anyone’s guess.

      And how long since I last remember anything? One month? Two?

      I’m obviously supposed to know these other two people. From the state of the main cabin – clothes littered around the floor and beer cans and full ashtrays on any available flat surface – I get the sense we’ve been living together on this boat for more than a day or two.

      ‘Here.’ The girl plonks a mug of water down in front of me. ‘You look like you could do with this.’

      She reminds me of Amanda de Cadanet, all swooshy blonde hair and private-school accent, and I consider for a second that I might just be having a rather intense nightmare brought on by watching the The Word while I talked with Becca last night, but then the boat lurches as the wake of a passing ferry slaps against the hull, sending my hand shooting for the table in front of me to steady myself, and I dismiss the idea.

      No. This is real. At least, as real as the last ‘jump’ was, anyway.

      I sip the water and it seems to help. ‘Thanks …’ I croak, trailing off because I realise I don’t know the girl’s name.

      Jude offers me a round, crusty roll and I tear it open with my hands and stuff a healthy helping of ham and slices of pale-yellow cheese inside. The biting, the chewing, the swallowing that follows helps anchor me to this day, this time, more firmly. By the time I finish breakfast I almost feel normal again.

      ‘So what’s the plan for today?’ I ask and look round, hopefully. Maybe I can play detective and piece the rest of what I want to know together if I’m clever about it.

      They all look at me, then look at each other, then burst out laughing again. I feel my hackles rise.

      ‘It was your idea!’ the nameless guy says. ‘Wow. Those G&Ts really did their job, didn’t they?’

      ‘Humour me,’ I say, not sounding very humorous at all.

      ‘We were going to sail down to the island. You know, the one with the palazzo? See if we can moor off one of the beaches.’

      I nod as if I know what he’s talking about. ‘Of course we were,’ I say, as if everything is completely normal. ‘When are we setting sail?’

      ‘Soon as we’re all ready,’ he replies.

      I nod again and stand up. ‘Better get dressed then.’ I’ve decided that short sentences and concrete facts are my best friends right now.

      As I throw on a stripy T-shirt and some shorts, find some blue-and-white plimsolls I don’t recognise but assume are mine, because my socks, which I do recognise, are stuffed into them, I let the questions come.

      Why? I think to myself. Why did it happen again? Was it something I did, something I said? Something I wished really hard in my heart? Part of me hoped СКАЧАТЬ