Chapter 1 - The White Trainers
The first time I notice it, I tell myself I’m tired. It’s half six in the morning. The kitchen smells faintly of burnt toast and cheap coffee. The school run starts in forty minutes. My son is upstairs refusing to put on his socks, and my husband is already gone for an early shift again. Normal. Everything is normal. I’m standing at the sink when I see it. Or rather, I don’t. The kettle clicks off. Steam curls up toward the cabinet doors. I glance at the glossy black microwave across from me. I can see the fridge behind me. I can see the kitchen table. I can see the back door. But I can’t see myself. I blink. Move slightly to the left. There’s the cupboard. The clock. The smudge I keep meaning to wipe off the surface. But where I should be standing with mug in hand, dressing gown gaping, hair scraped into a bun… There’s only the kitchen tiles. I step closer. My reflection slides back into place. Pale face. Grey eyes. A small vertical line between my brows I don’t remember earning. “Don’t be stupid,” I mutter. It’s the angle. The lighting. Cheap appliances. This house is full of quirks. We bought it last year, and I still don’t trust the plumbing. Still. My hands are shaking when I pour the coffee. I don’t tell anyone. Because what would I say? Sorry, I think I temporarily ceased to exist in the microwave door. Instead, I pack the lunchbox. Cheese sandwich. Quavers. Apple slices going brown at the edges. Upstairs, Jamie is mid meltdown. Socks are “too linen.” The label in his jumper is “itching his bones.” I sit beside him and peel it out with nail scissors while he rocks slightly on the edge of the bed. His room mirror is directly opposite us. I try not to look. But I do. We’re both there. His small body folded in on itself. My hand steady on his shoulder. Normal. Completely normal. “You’re staring again,” he says.
My stomach tightens. “Staring at what?”
“At them.” The word lands oddly.
“Who’s them?”
Jamie doesn’t answer. He’s looking past me now. At the mirror. My throat goes dry. There’s nothing behind us. Just the door. Just the landing. Just empty space.The estate agent told us the previous owner left in a hurry. Family emergency, she’d said. Needed a quick sale. The price was lower than it should have been for this part of Leeds. We were lucky. That’s what everyone said. Lucky. I glance at the hallway mirror as we leave for school. This time, I don’t disappear. But something else does. Jamie’s reflection is standing perfectly still. While beside me, in real life, he’s tugging at his coat zip and whining about being late. In the mirror, he isn’t moving at all. He’s staring straight at me. And smiling. Jamie never smiles like that. Slow. Knowing. Wrong. I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance. He’s still there. Frowning. Ordinary. “Mum?”
I look back at the mirror. Now it matches. Perfectly. I crouch down so we’re eye level. “Did you move just then?” I ask carefully.
He shrugs. “I didn’t do anything.” I believe him. That’s the worst part.
That night, I test it. I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and wave my hand. My reflection waves back. I tilt my head. It tilts. I lean closer until my breath fogs the glass. For a split second but barely noticeable, it’s delayed. A fraction too slow. My heart starts pounding. “Stop it,” I whisper. The reflection doesn’t. It’s still smiling. And I’m not.
