Helena yanked the front door shut behind her, careful not to slam it despite her bad temper, so that her daughters couldn’t use that against her as well (‘Mum! You ALWAYS tell us NEVER to slam the door!’). It had been a trying morning. Neither girl wanted to get up. Colette threw a tantrum when the outfit she wanted to wear turned out to be in the wash. Louise had lost her pencil case and accused Colette of stealing it. Taking no notice of Helena’s attempts to mediate, Colette ran off with Louise’s favourite teddy bear and flung it out of the window. Then Louise grabbed Colette round the neck, trying to drag her to the floor while Colette choked and spluttered. Helena screamed, ‘Colette, let your sister go!’. Which had the upside of stopping the fight but the downside of unleashing a tirade from both girls about how she was such a terrible mother that she didn’t even know which of her daughters was which. When she got upset, her husband Richard intervened, patronisingly admonishing her to stay calm and remember that she was the adult, then cheerfully calling the girls to come and eat breakfast – which of course they did immediately, chatting animatedly with Richard about their plans for the day while ignoring Helena completely. Thankfully Richard had his ‘daddy day’ at home with the kids today, so as soon as she had gulped down her muesli she was able to escape both the pandemonium and her burning feeling of humiliation. Looking back at the closed front door, she wondered why it was that she felt increasingly isolated from Richard and the kids, the gap seeming to widen by the day. As if she were an unwanted bystander – or worse – an intruder in her own family. Glancing at her watch, she broke into a brisk trot to reach the bus stop in time. The bus driver barely glanced up as she jumped in through the door just before it closed.
Settling down into her seat on the bus, Helena took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then flipped open her laptop. She had a very important presentation to prepare for. Usually her bus journey was a good time to work. Amazingly, on this particular route there were always seats available, and the bus even had wifi. But this morning, she found it hard to concentrate. Whereas usually she would be hyped up and jittery from adrenaline, anxious for the meeting to be a success, now she felt strangely detached and uncaring. More and more, she was starting to wonder what the endless discussions, meetings, presentations, negotiations and political pussyfooting actually accomplished. Gazing aimlessly out of the window, she saw groups of teenage girls cycling to school in seemingly homogeneous packs – identical wide blue jeans, black jackets and long sweeps of straight, glossy hair, each riding a black ‘grandma’ bike with a crate mounted on the front. They were shouting and squealing with laughter at each other’s sarcastic remarks, and stuck up their middle fingers en masse at an elderly gentleman foolish enough to attempt to cross the road at the zebra crossing. A cramp went through Helena’s stomach. If she found the girls hard to deal with now, what on earth was she going to do when they hit puberty? She pictured herself at the dinner table, Richard, Colette and Louise all talking down to her, informing her she was totally out of touch and just didn’t get it, and shuddered.
Getting off at her stop, Helena walked briskly to work, passing the music school along the way. Usually the sight of guitar, cello and tuba cases apparently walking along on their own two legs – that is, until they turned to reveal the small child in front gamely struggling along under the weight – always made her smile. This time her heart just sank at the prospect of a potential new set of duties in the future, ferrying the girls to guitar, piano, football, boxing, ballet, or whatever hobby they chose. More places filled with hordes of tiny noisy strangers and their distant, disapproving mothers. Her phone beeped with a message, and she glanced at the screen. Her brother, wanting to ‘catch up’. Which meant an hour of him talking about himself. She’d once gone for weeks without telling him anything about her life to see how long it would take before he would ask her a question. In the end she caved in and told him about her promotion unprompted. To which he responded by detailing the current political intrigues in his office. She slid the phone back into her pocket, the message unanswered. Not right now, she thought.
Arriving at work, still running through her presentation in her head, she made an effort to push it aside and be sociable. She put a big smile on her face and greeted the receptionist. ‘Morning Rachid!’, she said brightly. He stared at her unsmilingly. “I’m Ali”, he said, then turned away to answer the phone. A wave of red-hot shame engulfed Helena. She had just committed the clichéd racist insult of mixing him up with ‘the other Moroccan receptionist’. What could she possibly do to apologise? Anything she thought of sounded so fake, so “I’m not racist, really!”. But she wasn’t racist. Rachid and Ali just both had similar haircuts, similar close-shaven beards, similar stylish shirts and suits… She’d never mixed them up before, though. As Ali’s phone call continued, she hovered in brief indecision, then headed for the lifts, her cheeks glowing.
A cup of coffee helped her to concentrate on preparing for the presentation, although every so often the memory of her mistake resurfaced, producing another stab of guilt. As the hour of the big meeting approached, she stopped by her colleague Jack’s desk to check that he was ready to give his part of the presentation. She suppressed a smile at his t-shirt, which read ‘I don’t need to get a life. I’m a gamer. I have lots of lives’. Strange, she thought, how she felt compelled to wear her smartest suit for an important meeting, desperate to make a good impression on her manager. Whereas he just turned up in a t-shirt and jeans and no one would ever dare to say anything, because he was ‘the tech guy’ upon whose goodwill and skills the entire company depended. At least he wasn’t wearing the one that said, ‘Your lack of planning is not my emergency’. That had met with a very icy reaction from their boss. Communicated not to Jack but to Helena, who he apparently held responsible for ensuring the respectful conduct of the team.
As the guests filed into the conference room, Helena stood shaking their hands, trying to be polite and welcoming while working hard to memorise their names. As the CTO approached, she turned her smile up a notch. ‘Great to see you again!’. He looked confused. ‘Have we met before?’. Helena hesitated, her certainty evaporating. His narrow face, short blonde hair and metal-rimmed spectacles looked so familiar, but now that she thought back, she had no idea where she could have met him before. Probably it had just been someone who looked like him. She mumbled something and he moved on down the line, leaving her mechanically shaking hands and blushing hotly.
Once the introductions had been made, they all took their seats and Helena’s boss gave a short welcome. He then handed over to the head of the research department. Helena turned her head to the left, looking expectantly down the table, then was startled to hear the department head’s voice coming from the right. She shook herself mentally. She really needed to pull herself together.
A volley of short speeches followed, and Helena sighed inwardly, wishing that every manager didn’t feel the need to prove their own importance by spouting at least five minutes of corporate-speak. It had taken months to get all these people in the same room. Time was precious and they really needed to get down to the key matters for discussion. Finally, it was time for her presentation. As she walked to the top of the room and took her place by the microphone, glancing round at the people present, she almost laughed out loud when she saw that one of the guests was wearing an identical t-shirt to Jack. What were the odds? That reminded her, where was Jack? She looked around, but couldn’t see him anywhere at the table. How could he not be here, she had seen him less than fifteen minutes ago?! If he didn’t turn up, she would have to answer the technical questions. That would be ok if it was just the managers who asked the questions, the hardest thing in that case wasn’t knowing the answer but explaining it in simple enough terms for them to understand. But if that guy in the tech nerd t-shirt started in on the details… She tried to push down her sense of panic and carry on with her presentation, but she knew that she was fumbling some sentences as she tried to think how she would cover for Jack’s absence and handle the questions.
Finally, she reached the end, her face sweating, and the chairman announced that Jack would now take them through the technical aspects. Helena cleared her throat, then said, ‘I’m sorry, Jack couldn’t make it. Urgent family issues. But I’m sure I can answer most things…’. She saw the tech nerd stand up, a strange look on his face, and her heart sank, mentally preparing herself for a thorough grilling. He got up and walked right towards her purposefully. She couldn’t believe his rudeness, but then, he was a geek. They were often socially awkward. But when he gently pushed her to one side and took her place behind the microphone, she couldn’t help but say, in a frosty tone of voice, ‘Excuse me, can I help you?’. He put his hand on her shoulder in a familiar way, and she flinched back in shock. Then he whispered, ‘Just sit down, I’ll take over’.
Helena was outraged at the hubris of the guy and frantically thought how she could handle the situation in a polite but firm way, shocked that the chairman wasn’t intervening. Then, as she stared at the man’s face, something seemed to shift in her head. It was like seeing the illusion of the old woman that suddenly became the young woman. The man was Jack. It seemed to take an eternity to return to her seat, cheeks flaming. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back, soaking her blouse under the suit jacket. She didn’t dare glance at the people on either side of her, for fear they would be wrinkling their noses in disgust at her stink.
Pretending to listen attentively, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the slides on the screen, her mind was in turmoil. What on earth was going on? She had worked with Jack for almost four years. How had she suddenly been unable to recognise him? This was such an important meeting. She had been preparing for weeks, barely having time for anything else. Why did this – whatever it was – have to happen now? What would her boss think? Forcing herself to turn away from the screen, she looked over at him to gauge his reaction. Was he steadfastly ignoring her? Glaring at her? Shaking his head in pity? Mouthing the words ‘you’re fired’ was not something he would ever do. Would he?
Helena’s heart stopped. She couldn’t see her boss anywhere. Had he stepped out? Then, remembering what had happened with Jack, she forced herself to look at every person round the table carefully. On her left sat a man with a short, stylish beard and long hair pulled neatly back, office hipster style. Next to him, a man with greying hair and glasses, smartly dressed. Further round was a woman with hair scraped back into a ponytail, with heavy make-up. Next to her was another, apparently identical woman. Helena’s eyes switched back and forth between them, but couldn’t find any difference. In rising panic, she rapidly looked round the rest of the room. Another hipster, more men with greying hair and glasses, more heavily made-up young women, older women with cropped hairstyles – everyone around the table was an indistinguishable copy of a particular type. Not a single individual that she could recognise.
Helena stood up abruptly, shoving her chair back so that it rolled into the partition with a bang. A wall of faces turned towards her – and now they were completely identical, an unending repetition of noses, eyes, chins and hair. Blank and expressionless. Uncaring now of anyone’s opinion, forgetting presentations, meetings and business deals, Helena’s only thought was to get out of there.
Blundering through a series of doors, not daring to look at the multiple figures that swivelled towards her and shouted something – was that her name? – she finally found herself outside. She took deep shuddering breaths, wrapping her arms around herself, closing her eyes and feeling the sun on her face. What was happening to her? She tried to slow her breathing, steadying herself. As she felt a measure of calm return, she opened her eyes.
Streams of people swarmed along the pavements. Suits, dresses, camouflage combats, tight crop tops and jeans – all were topped by the same featureless blob. No expression, no personality – not even eyes, noses or mouths. Stumbling along the street, she overtook a line of walking musical instrument cases, and glanced back to see only the blank fronts of the cases, no children at all. Horrified, she broke into a run. Not daring to board one of the many buses packed with identical mannequins, she alternately ran and staggered, panting, the whole way home.
Finally, thankfully, she collapsed against her front door. Her whole body shaking, it took her an agonisingly long time to fumble for the keys in her trouser pocket, then countless attempts to get them in the lock and turn it, after dropping them twice. The door swung open and she slid inside, slamming it shut behind her. Home. Safe.
Two small shapes charged towards her, uttering odd cries, and grabbed hold of her waist and legs. Crying out in horror, Helena flung them aside, at which they emitted harrowing shrieking sounds. Behind them, a larger form loomed up out of the kitchen, booming and bellowing. Compelling her exhausted body into action, Helena fled up the stairs and locked herself into the bathroom.
Gasping for breath, she turned on the tap, splashing her face and gulping down mouthfuls of cold water. She raised her head, staring straight into the mirror – and saw nothing. A featureless, empty blur. Despair flooded through her. As the pounding on the door outside reached a crescendo, she smashed the glass with her fists and wrenched out a long shard, plunging it deep into her neck.
Lying on the floor, the door burst open, thudding painfully into her back. Arms clutched at her in panicky embraces, and she looked up to see Colette and Louise, faces drenched in tears. She had known those faces since they were babies, she had seen every infinitely precious feature grow and develop, constantly changing yet always recognisably their own unique selves. Pushing the children aside, Richard bent over her, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood from her neck. Though time had added grey hairs and wrinkles, she could still see the young man whose face had turned radiant with joy when she told him she loved him for the first time. Intense love filled her heart as she truly felt one with her family. For the first time in, oh, how terribly long.
But already her sight was fading, blackness growing at the edges of her vision, the beat of her heart fading as she sank away into oblivion.