Unbecoming by Jenny Downham

eh?’
    This really is none of their business. Mary tries to draw the appropriate words together. ‘I’m currently living in London. I caught the train and walked here from the station. I stopped off for refreshments at the coffee bar.’
    The woman shakes her head, looks doubtful.
    The man says, ‘You mean the café?’
    ‘If you like. There’s a particular seat near the window. I watch this place from there.’
    The woman frowns. ‘You watch my flat?’
    ‘Just to make sure everything’s the same, you know – the mantelpiece and the neatness. I have to know she’s being looked after properly, you see. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me come inside.’
    The woman’s eyes fill with something. Pity? Boredom? She turns to the man. ‘Why don’t you try the café? That’s probably where she came from.’
    ‘I’m late for work already. How about you call the police instead?’
    ‘Not the police,’ Mary says. ‘That really won’t be necessary.’
    The woman looks sorry. ‘But you don’t seem to know where you are.’
    ‘I’m at Pat’s house.’
    ‘No one called Pat lives here, darling. And it’s not a house, it’s a block of flats.’
    The panic builds slowly. It’s as if the world widens out to include things that don’t belong – this woman’s bare shoulders, the ring through her nose, the man tapping away at some gadget, a car alarm blaring, the sound of traffic building up on the road behind them.
    Where is she? What year is it?
    The hands are the best clue. Folded like origami round her handbag. She lifts them in front of her face to look. They are lined and dry.
    She is ancient.
    The world shifts once more.
    The woman suggested she walk Mary back to the café. She said this was a less alarming solution than calling the police.
    The man rubbed Mary’s arm in a friendly fashion. ‘Cheerio then. Best of luck.’
    Mary stalled at the gate to look back at the house. It was all wrong. The window frames were some sort of white plastic and it never used to stretch so high or wide and there never used to be balconies or quite so many doors.
    The woman said, ‘These flats were built years ago. Maybeit’s a block of flats like this? Down a similar road perhaps?’
    ‘Did you ever find a suitcase?’
    ‘No, darling, I’m sorry. What was in it? Something valuable?’
    But Mary couldn’t remember, so she smiled instead and they continued a slow path out the gate and along the street. Daisies were scattered on the verge. Had they been there earlier? The bus stop certainly looked familiar. Mary yearned to sit there and let the sun warm her, but the woman had her firmly by the elbow and was chivvying her along.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll walk you to the café and hopefully someone will recognize you.’
    ‘I know her.’ Mary waved at the girl who came running up. ‘She’s a bit of a relative.’
    ‘Thank goodness,’ the woman said.
    The girl was out of breath, her hair wild, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere! You’ve never gone this far before.’ She turned to the woman, ‘I’m so sorry. She let herself out the flat before anyone was awake.’
    The woman handed Mary over, told the girl she really should keep a better eye. The girl apologized many times. The woman mentioned Pat, told the girl about the coffee bar. They all shook hands. They waved goodbye. They smiled and wished each other luck.
    ‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ the girl said. ‘I would’ve come with you.’
    ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
    The girl gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘It’s a heck of a lot more disturbing having you disappear. You’re lucky that woman found you.’
    ‘I found her actually.’
    ‘Well, whichever way round it was, you completely freakedeveryone out. I’ll call Mum, let her know we’re on our way home.’
    ‘Let’s not hurry.’ Mary clutched the girl, relieved to have a familiar arm to hold. ‘I quite fancy a coffee if