Monday 2nd November 1992- Becca

"And its congratulations again to Boys II Men, who keep hold of the number one spot for the second week running with this track ...."

Becca woke to the breakfast show DJ listing the UK's new top ten. As the boy band began to croon, she reached over and thumped the off-button on the radio-alarm clock.

"That's the end of the road for you," she grumbled.

The blankets were twisted around her body and from the heavy, fuzzy feeling in her head, she knew she'd not slept well at all. If she had dreamt, she couldn't recall. Her mind then went back to the dinner the day before. She had an odd sense that something unusual had happened, but nothing would come into focus.

Becca pulled the curtain back and looked out at the cold autumn morning. The leaves on the large oak had nearly all dropped and were being blown around the base of the tree, while a low mist hung over the fields behind the vicarage. It was a denim dungarees and thick, plaid shirt, kind of day. Reluctantly, she climbed out of bed into the frigid room. Her uncle's strict control over the thermostat meant that the heating came on for long enough to heat some water but not enough to provide a level of warm comfort.

With only thirty minutes to spare, she bolted for the bathroom, teeth chattering and cast a longing glance at the deep, roll-top bath. She couldn't help imagining herself neck-deep in hot, strawberry-scented water, but those too were also a thing of the past as her uncle favoured economical, two-minute showers. With a sigh, she reached over to turn on the water and noticed at once, her wrist. It was still thankfully numb as she pressed around it, but she made a mental note to call the local doctor later that morning, concerned it looked redder and deeper than before.

Once dried and dressed, Beccca tied her hair back and applied a swipe of mascara, trying to ignore her dull complexion and puffy, reddened eyes in the mirror. Grabbing her bag and Walkman, she selected her Nirvana cassette, purposefully co-ordinating her music choice with her grey, Kurt Cobain-print sweater she wore beneath dungarees, and headed down to breakfast.

Downstairs, the silence was deafening. She imagined him sitting at the table waiting, poised ready to launch into a tirade at her. She remembered arriving late at the church and remembered Ben walking her home, but everything else had gone. What the hell had she taken at the rave that could cause her to have such memory loss? Did she dare mention it to the doctor, when she saw him about her wrist?

The door to the kitchen was slightly ajar, so she paused for a moment and took a deep breath. She had just thirteen minutes in which to leave the house to get to the bus stop in time, so she decided to go on the offensive with the offer of a quick apology. As she pushed the opened, inwards she found and empty room and a note written on a St Saviour's embossed pad, in the centre of the table.

Rebecca, I have had to leave early on a matter of urgent parish business. Margaret has left some freshly baked teacakes for your breakfast. I will be back late again tonight, so please fix yourself some supper.

In an odd way, Becca felt a little disappointed by his absence. Yes, she'd avoided a lecture, but now the house felt colder and lonelier, not helping her background anxiety, that she was trying to pretend didn't exist. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted up to her nose. She lifted the muslin cloth on the table and found the plate of teacakes, still warm. They were the size of saucers and the surface burnished with a glossy-brown, sugary crust. Pieces of dried fruit and chopped peel bulged out from the sweet dough. Ravenous, she grabbed one and stuffed it into her mouth. It tasted as good as it looked and the sticky-sweet, cinnamon-spiced bun was gone within four mouthfuls. She grabbed another and munched her way through it as she laced up her boots. She chugged back a glass of milk then grabbed her coat, leaving the house, buoyed by the sugar intake and feeling a little more relaxed.

The five-minute walk through the village to the bus stop took her past the chocolate box assortment of little cottages and shops, including the newsagents where she worked on Saturdays. The village, by Norfolk standards, was reasonably large with two pubs, a primary school and the church positioned at the heart of the village; all of which centred on a small green, complete with ornamental duck pond. As she made her way down towards the green, she passed the community centre, set back a little off the road. The pebble-dashed building which had originally been the old schoolhouse now served as a venue for children's parties, election poling and the Diamond Over-60s Sunday luncheon. She stopped and stared at the building, trying to remember. The events of the last thirty-six hours were so jumbled in her head, as if someone had picked up her memories, cut them into jigsaw pieces and then dropped from a great height. Nothing seemed to fit together, no two pieces matched and most of the pieces were entirely blank. Becca cast her eyes across the broken skin on her wrist again, then with a shake of her head, she turned and continued down the road, turning up her Walkman as loud as she could stand. "Smells like Teen Spirit" began playing and Becca increased her pace as she lost herself in the heavy, hypnotic quality of the track, temporarily erasing the doubts.

Unusually, the bus was already waiting at the stop, so she had the luxury of a seat all to herself and she arrived outside college fifteen minutes early. She wandered leisurely up to her first class of the day- Sociology. The class she was in was quite small compared to her other subjects, with just fourteen students. She took a seat at her usual table, taking out her folder and stationery and quickly, the classroom filled up. Lauren never arrived at class.

"The homework for this week is for you to observe people in a public space and record how they interact. You must try to include verbal and non-verbal forms of communication, body cues, tics, and any other idiosyncratic and habitual behaviours. To ensure that the observation is as natural and objective as possible, try not to insert yourself into the scene and watch from a distance. I expect the report to be at least one thousand words in length."

Becca made a note of the homework in her planner. At least she now had something useful to do in church on Sunday. Uncharacteristically, she'd not completed any homework over the weekend and with this new essay, she'd have to put in a few late nights to finish it all in time. That was probably why Lauren hadn't yet made an appearance. Collecting up her things, she considered going to the library to kill some time before the start of the next lesson, but she knew she must really go and face Ben. Twice he'd now gotten her out of trouble. She owed him a thank you at the very least, even if it meant she'd have to crawl under a rock with embarrassment afterward.

By the time she made it through the bustling corridors, the group, minus Lauren, were congregated on two large sofas in the refectory. She hoped to approach them quietly, but one of them had other ideas.

"Hey, Becca, what were you on at the weekend?" Josh called out.

Heads across the canteen turned, and her faced burned with their laughter. She wanted to turn on her heels and run.

"Shut it!" Ben shouted and slapped the top of Josh's head. "Leave her alone."

Becca scrutinised his face for signs of annoyance, amusement, or worse, pity, but she found nothing except a welcoming smile.

"Hi," she said quietly, as she got near.

"Hey Becca, how are you?" asked Xia. "Ben told us someone spiked your drink. Horrendous. Any idea who did it?"

Becca shook her head. "No, I remember buying a bottle of water at the bar and that's about it."

"Scary," Megan agreed. "Just glad you're okay now. What about that fire? We were so lucky ..."

Becca learnt that the police had put out a statement that they no longer needed witnesses and that the fire had been blamed on an electrical fault. The organiser had not yet been found, but they were following several lines on inquiry.

"Hi."

As the group continued chatting about the rave, Ben had made his way over to Becca and sat down next to her.

"Hi," she replied. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry you had to see me like that, twice."

"Don't be. You've nothing to be sorry for. Some low life gave you something and it messed with your head. Could have happened to any one of us. How was your uncle after I left?"

She sighed. "He was fine. To be honest, I think he is struggling a little with having a teenage girl in the house. We're both going through a ... transition period. How's Lauren?"

"I don't know, thought you might have spoken to her?"

"No, not since yesterday morning."

"I'm sure she's fine. Her parents are always away. She's been fending for herself since she was young."

"Are you seeing her tonight?"

"No, why?"

"Oh, no reason."

His eyes went wide.

"You think...' he laughed. "You think Lauren and I have a thing going."

"Don't you?"

"Good god, no! We'd murder each other within five minutes." He continued to laugh.

"What about you, Becca, have you got a boyfriend, maybe someone up there in Manchester?" asked Josh. Becca suddenly realised they had all stopped talking and were now listening intently to her.

She saw Ben shoot him an evil stare, which only worsened her embarrassment. Becca looked down at her boots and fixed her eyes on a new scuff mark. She wasn't going to tell them that she had honoured her father's wishes about not having a boyfriend until she was eighteen. To be honest, until now, she hadn't really been interested in anyone, anyway.

"Have any of you heard from Lauren?" Ben asked, seeming happy to change the subject.

None of them said they had.

"She'll be fine. She often takes a couple of days off here and there when she feels like it. I'll give her a call tonight, need to sort out what time we are meeting," Megan said.

"Ooh, yes, tomorrow night. Who's coming then?"

All hands went up except Becca's.

"Hey, that's right you probably don't know about this. Tuesday night is student night at The Park. You up for it?" Ben asked.

Becca thought of her uncle. There was no way on earth he was going to let her out to go clubbing and on a 'school night,' too.

"I don't think I can. I've got a lot on right now."

"Look, if you're worried about a repeat of the other night, I swear I won't take my eyes off you for a second."

How she wished he really meant that. She knew she was blushing again and that he had seen it.

"Oh, I didn't mean to...err that didn't come out how ... I just meant that I'll make sure no one spikes your drink or anything."

"Can I let you know tomorrow?" she said, hurriedly.

"Yeah, course you can. Look, I'm driving tomorrow night as I'm on a visit to London on Wednesday and we've got to catch the early train. Here...," he said, writing on a scrap of paper he tore from his exercise book, "this is my number. Call me if you want a lift there and back."

"Thanks, I will. I'd better go."

"Already? You've only just got here."

"Yeah, I need some books from the library. See you later."

Becca said goodbye to the group and threaded her way through the sofas, table and chairs of the busy refectory. A guy with long, jet black hair and wearing a Metallica leather jacket was seated in front of her, his feet resting upon another chair, blocking her path.

"Excuse me."

"Why, what have you done?" He smirked.

"Err, can I pass please? You're blocking my path."

The guy looked her up and down.

"Plenty of other ways to get out."

Becca laughed, the guy didn't.

"Can I just..."

"Nope."

She waited a moment, but he kept his legs raised. The look on his face said he wasn't moving anytime soon.

"For heaven's sake!" She growled at him, turned on her heels and squeezed through a small gap several tables over.

He began laughing, which got louder with every step she took away from him.

"Not even for them, love," he called out.

She bristled, annoyed at him and annoyed at herself for letting him win.

"Never for their sake," he bellowed.

"Idiot," she mumbled and headed to the library.

The remainder of the afternoon dragged, and Becca felt herself becoming more irritable, frequently looking at the clock. She wanted to escape the confines of the college and get into the fresh air, although the thought of returning to the empty vicarage, filled her with dread.

Lauren lived a few stops along her route, so Becca decided to call round her new friend's house to check she was okay. Just as she got off the bus, a rain shower began and by the time she had reached Lauren's front door, she was soaked. Becca ducked beneath the porch and rang on the bell. Lauren's house was a huge 1930's, double-fronted, detached property. Becca's old terraced house in Manchester could have fit three times over into Lauren's, with room to spare. It was like one of those large houses you always saw in double-glazing adverts, all big windows and period features.

With no answer, Becca knocked at the door and waited again. The rain was heavier now, so she pulled up the hood of her parka. About to turn and leave, she heard the chain being engaged behind the door, which then opened a little.

"Hello," a timid voice called out.

"Lauren, it's Becca."

She expected the door to close, the chain to be disengaged and her friend to welcome her into the dry with smile. That didn't happen.

"Oh, hi."

"Err... I was wondering if you're okay. I've also brought the work you missed and this week's sociology homework."

"Right, thanks."

"Well, do you want me to post it through the gap then?" Becca offered with a laugh.

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Lauren, are you okay?"

"I'm just peachy," she replied sharply. Then, softening her tone, "I'm okay, just not feeling great."

"Can I get you anything? It's not good feeling lousy when you're by yourself."

"No, like I said, I'm fine."

"Okay then." Becca rummaged in her bag. "Here's the work," she said, posting it through the gap. "Will you be in tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

The door closed abruptly, leaving Becca uttering her goodbye to the brass lion-shaped door knocker instead. She waited several minutes in case Lauren came back to the door. It didn't happen, so she walked down the driveway to the pavement and took a final glance at the house. Lauren stood in the downstairs window; her face unsmiling, vacant. She waved once, and then turned her back.

Something caught Becca's attention in the upstairs window. She looked up for a moment and waited, but there was nothing there, no movement at all. Becca had the urge to go back and knock on the door again, but she shrugged it off, feeling a little bruised that her new friend had been so dismissive.

It was dark by the time Becca reached the vicarage. The outside light, which ran on a timer switch, illuminated her way down the small garden path to the front door. She inserted the key and went into the dark hallway. The temperature inside the old house seemed colder than it did outside, so she kept her coat on and felt her way down to the kitchen in the dark, still not familiar with where all the light switches were. The comforting aroma of soup lingered in the air and, having located the light switch, she found a pan on the stove and next to it, on the worktop, another note.

Rebecca, unfortunately the parish business I had to attend to has taken me down to London for a couple of days. I will return on Wednesday. I have arranged for people to look out for you and Margaret will be in twice a day to cook for you. I have also left a small gift and card for you on the mantelpiece in the living room. It is a family heirloom, take great care of it. Happy birthday.

Becca's stomach growled, so she put the soup on a low heat and went in search of her uncle's gift. The living room, like the rest of the house needed redecoration and looked like it hadn't seen a lick of paint since the 1970's. Despite its gaudy colour scheme, she liked the room, with its large hearth, worn-out yet comfortable sofas and assorted pictures of people she assumed were her relatives, now departed. On the mantelpiece, she saw her gift positioned next to a picture of her mother, which must have been taken of her at a similar age to what Becca was now. Unlike Becca, her mother had blonde hair and blue eyes which smiled out at her from the grainy, yellow-tinged photo. Wearing a tight t-shirt with a picture of David Bowie on the front, and flared trousers, she was standing in a garden, leaning against a large tree. Becca touched the picture lightly, the familiar ache in her chest that little bit stronger than it usually was.

The gift itself, was a small, green-leather box, which had worn away around the edges. She carefully picked it up and opened the hinged lid. Inside, nestled on a pad of discoloured cotton wool, lay a round pendant, no bigger than a fifty-pence piece, attached to a fine, leather-like cord.

Gently, she took the pendant from the box and held it up to the light to see it better in the artificial glow. Set in a dark, metal frame, a spherical-shaped, clear gemstone glistened. It had neither the brilliance of a diamond nor the lacklustre of cut-glass. At first glance, it looked to be entirely translucent but upon closer examination, small, barely-there cracks could be seen throughout. The fine lines were only noticeable for the slight iridescent gleam they gave off. The longer she looked, the more fissures appeared to her, until the entire gemstone no longer appeared transparent at all.

Finding it difficult to pull her eyes from the stone, she looked again to the frame which housed it. It was made from a dark-grey metal that looked like it was purposefully dull in order to allow the stone to appear more beautiful. An embossed pattern of lines and squiggles decorated the perimeter. And unlike usual pendants, where the chain was connected at the top, here the cord was woven into the bottom half of the metal frame, knotted on either side to fix it in place with a simple hook and eye clasp at either end of the cord. It was beautiful. Unhitching the clasp, she placed the cord around her neck and checked that it was fastened securely. She moved to one side and looked at herself in the mirror that hung over the mantelpiece. The necklace hung perfectly; the stone glimmered as she moved. She looked back to the photo and wondered if her mother had ever worn the necklace but could not see it in the picture.

"Thank you, uncle," she said quietly to herself.

With her stomach beginning to groan, she took a last glance at the photo and went into the kitchen to eat her supper after what had been, on balance, not a bad day at all.