The Name I Call Myself by Beth Moran Page A

hers. “You mean this? You let me make dresses for your beautiful wedding, special day?”
    â€œYes. I would love you to.”
    â€œI make you really good dresses, Faith. I not do cheap, bad dresses look like little girl at party or from cartoon. My dresses classy. What you say… tasty.”
    I smiled. “Tasteful.”
    â€œYes! Good, good dresses. Beautiful, perfect fit. Right shape for each person. Show little bit bosom but not so men look bosom not face.”
    â€œFantastic. I don’t want men looking at my bridesmaids’ bosoms.”
    â€œSo, how many dresses you going to need? Who you got for bridesmaid?”
    Ah. That would depend upon who was controlling my wedding.
    â€œCan I get back to you on that?”
    â€œYes, yes, lovely Faith. You get back to me whenever you want. I happy before, but now I really happy. I not even mind those women take my coat any more.”

    I dreamed of Kane again that night. Dark, twisty dreams full of cracked, muddled images and dormant memories. My mother, little more than a shadow to me now, calling me, her hands frantic as she scooped up my pathetic pile of clothes into a bag, tossing in my favourite stuffed koala and a book.
    â€œCome on now, Rachel. We have to hurry. Get dressed, quickly now!”
    â€œWhere’s Liam? I want Liam.”
    â€œHe’s packing. Why aren’t you dressed yet? Hurry, we’ve got to hurry. He’s coming, Rachel!”
    But it was one of those dreams where no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get ready, couldn’t dress. Every time I looked down I still wore my faded pyjamas. The panic attacked my throat as my mother grew even more frantic, “Quickly, Rachel, quickly. He’s coming! ”
    Liam hid me in the wardrobe, right at the back, and made me promise to stay there, stay quiet.
    â€œJust for a little while, while me and Mummy talk to Kane. And then we’ll get our bags and go, Rachel. We’ll go far away to somewhere he can’t get us, and live in a nice new house with aswing and your own bedroom with pink walls. But now, it’s very important. Stay here, and don’t come out. Don’t look and don’t make a sound. Promise me?”
    I stayed there, even when the screaming and the crashing started. So loud I thought the house was falling down around the little wardrobe where I crouched, huddled, holding on to the promise of my brother.
    And then the wardrobe door opened, but in my dream it wasn’t my mother, or Liam. Nor the policeman who found me all those years ago.
    Snake leaned in, his thin lips glistening, irises bloodshot and bulging. “You can’t get away, Rachel.” He giggled. “I’m coming and you can’t get away.”
    I leaned back in the wardrobe, burying myself deeper and deeper under the pile of clothes, so deep I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear his gurgling laughter, couldn’t breathe.
    And then two steady arms went around me, held me tight, and whispered my new name, the name I call myself. And for a split second before I woke, drenched in sweat and tears, I was safe.

Chapter Seven
    The weight of my dream still heavy in my skull, I completed a lunchtime shift at a golden wedding anniversary in a local hotel, then went to see Sam.
    I found him lying on the sofa, the state of his clothes and beard suggesting he hadn’t moved since the last time I had been round.
    I didn’t ask how he was doing. Not interested in a lie, and not up to the truth.
    â€œWhere’s April?”
    He shrugged. “Out. Gone to the shops, probably.”
    â€œHave you had any alcohol?”
    He closed his eyes, pressing the back of his head against the arm of the sofa. “No.”
    â€œI want to call Gwynne.”
    He opened his eyes again, still motionless, but his stillness sharp.
    â€œWe can’t be left waiting, with no idea where he is or what’s happening. You need to get well again, Sam.