Forgotten: a truly gripping psychological thriller Read Online Free

the British public. The men tend to wear trousers and shirts and the women are nearly all in skirts and blouses. I saw one young guy on the street yesterday in bleached jeans and a rock T-shirt. He’d even bleached his hair to go with the jeans – he was getting nearly as many stares as I was!
    I was more interested in studying the architecture than the people, and trying to keep my bearings. It’s funny, ‘disorientated’ means not being able to locate the east but I’d found it with a vengeance. I couldn’t think of an appropriate word for my feelings of being in someone else’s life. Except it’s now my life. I might be in unfamiliar territory both emotionally and physically but it’s all mine. I’m in control. The buildings around me reinforced this feeling of being on a new planet with their gently sloping roofs, imperial yellow tiles and mythical guardians. It was almost a relief to be accosted by an art student who wanted me to have a look at the work done by her class at college. She led me through the suffocating heat, down a flight of steps into a blissfully fan-cooled room where she made a big show of making sure I was comfortable. Her work was wonderful, all done in traditional styles, and she took the time to explain the classical background to each piece. She had a collection of four coloured paintings, done on silk, which represented the seasons. If I’d had room in my rucksack I’d have bought them like a shot. Then it hit me that I don’t actually have anywhere to hang them at home, I don’t even have a home. That part of my life, the security, is gone. Biting down hard on my self-pity, I moved the student on to the next piece. Instantly I saw the disappointment in her eyes, she had probably read my hesitation as an indication that I was interested. I felt a little guilty but I can’t spend months buying things I don’t need from people I feel sorry for, especially as I only need the slightest opportunity to feel so sorry for myself. I can’t believe it’s only my second day and I’ve been tempted to sink into self-indulgent misery. That’s not what this trip is about. Christ! It’s not what the past few months have been about either. I gave myself a good mental slapping as I stepped back into the sun.
    One funny thing happened in the garden in the Forbidden City. It’s one of the most famous tourist destinations in the world and a young woman wanted a photo with me!! She was very polite about it, making a big thing of asking where I was from and how I liked China. She was probably in her early twenties but she was dressed like a child in a pink dress, white socks and clunky black shoes. Her short haircut looked like a mother’s special and her whole manner was one of a shy child showing off to her parents. Her father took the picture and tried to communicate with me. His face looked tired and old but he moved like someone in his thirties – probably all that Tai Chi in the park!
    I’d planned to climb up Tiananmen Gate on my way out but, after four hours of exploring I was shattered and I’d seen enough bridges, roofs, doorways, gateways and concubines’ rooms to last a life time. It was interesting to take a roundabout route to the exit which took me down some backstreets. The paint work wasn’t as fresh and the brickwork was crumbling in places. At one point I saw a cleaner’s cart propped against the entrance to one of the buildings. The lopsided cart looked so old and disused that it gave the whole courtyard a sense of being abandoned. Good photo opportunity. Another good picture would have been the view from the exit looking back over Tiananmen Square. Looking through Tiananmen Gate the view is bisected by a flagpole flying the Chinese Flag, this cuts through the ‘Monument to the People’s Heroes’ which, in turn divides Mao’s Mausoleum in two. I’m sure there’s some profound symbolism in this but I was too tired to work it out. Instead I just pointed and snapped