Page 22 of My Heart to Find

“So yeah, I looked at that company too—the one that gave her the free makeup, and they repost all their influencers’ photos. And they always do like these week-long... I don’t know what they’re called. Campaigns? So, Marnie didn’t finish her work with them. And Trevor was saying too that he was sure that if his sister had run away, she’d still be updating her IG.”

I nod. “It does make sense. And what the police are saying about her choosing to run away doesn’t match with that—she’d still update the Instagram, surely? Even if she was afraid of her location being tracked, I’m sure she’d find a way. I read that she was going to study computer science at uni too, so she must already know quite a bit. Such as how to hide her location—you know, if shedidrun away.” She rolls her eyes.

“Computer science?” Damien makes a considering noise in the back of his throat. “Didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m not sure where I heard it now.” I wrack my brain, but I can’t recall it. “But she definitely has skills.”

“Do you know Trevor?” Damien asks. “I was thinking maybe I could contact him, say that I want to help look for her. Or would that look suspicious?”

I raise my eyebrows. “A complete stranger? I think that could look a bit suspicious.”

“You don’t know him then?”

I shake my head. “Not well enough for that. I mean, until Marnie disappeared I didn’t even know he existed. Apparently there are other siblings as well. I think someone said that some of them are adopted, but I’m not sure which ones. But that’s about all I know of the Wathem family.”

Damien looks disappointed. “Do you know any of her friends?”

“I don’t think so.”

I try desperately to think of something else to say, but I can’t. It’s like my thought processes have suddenly become shut off. A huge great boulder has come down in my brain, flattened everything else that was there. I groan and know that I’m close to using up all my energy now.

We reach the park and walk around the perimeter. As we walk, my coat-hanger pain gets stronger, and then my left hip is hurting too—it does this, on and off. A flare-up of the joint last for days. My NHS GP could never explain that pain, but my private doctor, Dr. Singh the Savior was able to account for it after a quick lot of tests.

“Joint pain is common in chronic Lyme,” he’d said. “Particularly the big, major joints. Knees, shoulders, hips. Lyme arthritis—the bacteria gets inside the joints, invades them. You get swelling in the joints, a lot of pain, because the lining of the joints is being eaten away by the bacteria.”

Bacteria from the Lyme that the NHS doctors swore I couldn’t possibly have anymore because they don’t believe that chronic Lyme disease exists. Ha. To them, I’m just a hypochondriac.

Damien and I make small talk—not about Marnie now. Or rather, he makes small talk and I try to keep up—but my head’s feeling too heavy, and my thoughts are slow now. I stare at Damien’s hand as we walk. How it hangs freely at his side. My hand’s in my hoody pocket, so it can’t accidentally brush against his.

Damien asks a few questions about other places to walk around here. And I feel like I can’t even think now. The fogginess that was in my lungs has now reached my brain. My mind’s too heavy. It’s like I’m swimming through sticky tar as I try to arrange my thoughts, work out something coherent and cool that I can say.

“Yeah, there are some cool walks.” And I do know this. I used to run cross country all around here.

Oh, God. I sound stupid. Absolutely stupid. And uninterested in him—he’s going to wonder why I even came on this date. I sigh, trying to channel back the energy I had only a few minutes ago, when we were discussing Marnie. But I can’t. I’m too tired now. The fatigue is crushing over me.

It’s strange how it happens—how quickly I change. How quickly Lyme changes a person, even on a minute-by-minute basis. Because one minute I can be animated and appear not sick at all, but then the exhaustion gets me and everything’s a struggle. And I don’t want Damien seeing me like this—I’m not the fun girl he met before.

I’m a shadow of my former self, and walking with him, struggling to keep up with him and the forced conversation just makes me angry now. My Lyme is winning yet again, just reminding me that I can’t ever havenormal.

I’m relieved when an hour’s passed. When I can make an excuse to Damien about why I’ve got to leave. When I know I can finally get home and rest. I know I should feel proud for actually managing to do this, but all I feel like is a failure. My hip feels like it’s on fire, and my neck and shoulders feel too tight. My vision’s blurring and a couple times I’m sure I’ve sounded drunk.

Damien seems surprised, but doesn’t try to stop me. He’s probably finding this as awkward as I am now. Probably wondering why I asked for this date at all.

I say a quick goodbye, ready to duck out of the way of another hug—but he doesn’t even attempt it. Just nods. And that’s it.

Tears fill my eyes as I walk home. He’s not going to contact me again. Why would he? I really am Cara the Calamity—and sure, it’s a bit over-the-top, but I can never think of many words beginning with C that aren’t Crazy or Catastrophe.

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