Lullaby Girl (35 page)
‘You know … things aren’t good with us right now … I can’t just … I mean … There’s the baby to think about.’
‘She moved back in?’ I croak.
‘Yeah. A month ago. It’s due in August.’
I try not to let my face crumple.
‘What about your mother?’ asks Tim.
‘She … um … I can’t … I don’t … She’s …’
My lower lip curls. I fight it, but this nosedive is too strong to pull out of. For a moment my face elongates into a freakish, childish mask. Then I snap and the tears stream out. In the corner of my eye the space invader jiggles. Tim does not touch me or say everything will be okay. I close my eyes, feeling the tears leak out of them. Rain bangs on the windscreen.
When the real world returns, the car is moving. I lie with my eyes closed, swaying with the movements of the car. Tim turns on the radio and a British DJ comes on, talking about a band I haven’t heard of. The car jogs to the left, then to the right. Tim shifts into a higher gear. The vibrations from the car door tickle my forehead. Soon I have entered a weird state of calm. Visions jostle me. I remember taking my passport photo in Boots while Magnus held my hand under the curtain. Everything had been so perfect that day. If I’d done something differently, maybe things still would be perfect. How did this happen? Why did I trust him for so long?
‘I’m taking you north,’ says Tim when he sees me looking. ‘To your family.’
‘What?’ I say, sitting up. ‘Aren’t we going to your house?’
‘I really think you should talk to them,’ he replies. ‘You’ve been through a lot.’
‘But—’
‘They’re your parents. It’s their
job
to look after you!’
‘But … I thought I could help you in the shop tomorrow—’
‘Don’t be silly. You need to rest.’
Tim lifts a hand from the wheel and squeezes my arm. With his eyes on the road, he smiles at me. A huge signpost flashes past us, with a big white arrow pointing to ‘The North’. For reasons I cannot fathom, the Englishness of the sign fills me with rage. Tim changes lanes. I put my feet on the dashboard and try to think. How can I explain about my parents?
‘Hey, don’t do that,’ says Tim as we pull up at the lights.
‘What?’
‘Your feet … I don’t want to get the police’s attention.’
‘What police?!’
‘No … There aren’t any right now! Just, you know … in case.’
‘Why would the—’
‘No insurance,’ says Tim. He winks at me. Then the lights turn green and he roars out onto the roundabout.
#
Poor dear Tim.
Everything is going to be all right
.
I watch his mouth forming the words, before the sound comes. There is conviction in his eyes. I know he means well.
We’re nearly at Newcastle airport, and I convince him it’s too late in the evening to arrive at my parents’ house. No time of day would be good enough to turn up in such a state, right enough. But I convince him to stay the night on the airport floor with me. Just one night, I plead. Tell Natalie it was an emergency. Tomorrow he can take me there.
A matter of life and death.
I try to laugh. I think it fools him. We park the car and go in.
Hunter-gatherer style, Tim finds an empty spot and we lie down. The floor is freezing. I huddle into his shoulder, and he shelters my head. Through his fingers, I spy people walking past. Each time footsteps draw near, my heartbeat rises. But the faces are never ones I recognise.
Everything is going to be all right.
Tim. You have such a perfect family. You were lucky that way. How could you ever understand the type of father I have? Oh God, the shame of telling my parents I’ve failed. By now I should have a ring on my finger. A perfect house and a perfect husband. To prove the fucker wrong. But look at that. He was right all along.
‘You should call them. At least let them know you’re coming.’
‘Tim, I don’t have any money.’
‘Here.’
Fuck
.
‘No, Tim. No. They’ll only worry. It’s late.’
‘Look, I’m taking you there whether you like it or not. I won’t leave you in the middle of nowhere in such a state. You need support. Go call them.’
‘Tim—’
‘Now.’
I love you for that fake anger in your voice. I nod and accept the coins you are pushing into my hand. You look happy. Proud to be helping me. And I don’t want to rob you of that feeling.
I walk away, feeling vulnerable in the near-deserted check-in area. Behind me, some people are sleeping in front of the desks. I check their faces for a long time before letting you out of my sight. Then, with trembling steps, I follow sign-posts to the public telephones. Am I really going to do this? Will I just tell you I did? Or …
There they are. I approach. My hand is sweaty when I take the coins out of it. They clunk into the slot. I dial.
Click
.
‘Hello?’ says a voice, and instantly I want to hang up.
‘Hi Dad.’
‘Kathy! Where have y—’
I reel back, stunned by the torrent of words. He does not pause even once. I wait, feeling the words fall over and over me, and more over the top of that. He’s angry. Well, he’s always angry, but now he’s
really
angry … I pull at my collar. He keeps shouting.
‘… hospital …’
‘… come …’
‘… get on a plane …’
‘… hell have you …’
‘Dad. Wait. Dad.’
‘… to call you all day …’
‘Dad! Stop!’
‘… heard a word I’ve said?’
‘What’s happened?’ I manage. And he starts again. Only angrier.
‘… Your mum’s been knocked down. A hit-and-run …’
‘What? I … When?’
‘This morning.’
‘Is Mum all right?’
‘Get on a plane. Right now.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Get on the first possible flight. She’s hanging by a thread. She asked for you. She’s waiting for you, Kathy.’
‘I …’
Bastards. Cowards. Just drove off. Foreign number plates. Didn’t stand a chance. A Porsche.
My vision swerves and I drop the phone. Dad’s voice rattles on, all tinny.
Oh God …
‘Kathy?’
It was Hans. Oh my God. It was Hans. Or Kolbeinn. Or one of their people. Hans knew my parents’ address.
Hans tried to kill my mother
.
Light behind my eyes. Flashing. Blinding. I swoon.
‘Get on a plane. Get to the hospital.’
‘I can’t …’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘I’m … too busy … My work …’
‘Well, Miss La-di-da … Sorry to interrupt your fantastic new life, but your mother is at death’s door—’
‘Dad, I can’t come …’
Kolbeinn might be there. Or Hans.
‘This is serious. If you don’t come, you’re no daughter of mine.’
They’ve killed her, and now he’ll kill me …
The darkened room glides with shadows. I watch the crack in the curtains. A slim triangle, swarming with white. Either it’s snowing outside or I’m hallucinating. Rhona’s head is bowed, but I think she is looking at my face. She hasn’t moved or spoken since I noticed her presence. Maybe because she thinks I’m still drugged. That I’m not really here, though my eyes appear open. And that’s certainly been the case lately. I’ve been away with the fairies and no mistake. But today I feel different. Slowly, so as not to arouse detection, I try flexing my toes beneath the sheets. They bend to my will with barely a delay.
‘Hi,’ says Rhona quietly.
Damn
. I blur my eyes, hoping to fool her.
‘I know you’re awake,’ she says. Her voice is not angry. I focus my eyes on her. There’s a wide blue burn plaster on her cheek.
‘Why did you come back?’ I croak.
‘You’ve been shouting again. In your sleep.’
I stare. Annoyed. The nightmare is still clear in my mind, and I dread to think which parts Rhona overheard.
‘You said Hans killed your mother,’ she continues, in the same steady tone.
I draw in a breath.
‘And I suppose he tried to kill you too?’
‘What?’ I try. But I know it’s no good.
‘Don’t play the fool,’ says Rhona. ‘I know you remember.’
Her tone is sharp. But in her eyes I see excitement.
‘This is what we’ve been waiting for. We can finally bring this man to justice for—’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you see what a breakthrough this is?’
‘No.’
Rhona sighs heavily. I hide my face in my hands.
‘Look,’ she says. ‘There’s a lot to sort out. If we start the ball rolling now, this whole matter can be—’
‘Yeah. And what then?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re still packing me off to Dundee.’
‘Look … I’ve tried to be honest. I’ve done all I possibly can. But I’m not superwoman. I can’t—’
‘Is that what Joyce told you to say?’ I snap, before I can stop myself.
‘Look at me.’
Behind her head, the crack in the curtains swirls. It blisters from left to right, diagonally. It froths in little circles. Then it slows, and the individual flakes become visible. I follow them with my eyes. Trickling softly downwards. Is that snow? What month is this? I must be going mad.
‘Dundee is for the best,’ she says. ‘You’ll have the best doctors—’
‘Let go of me.’
‘You need to talk about him. I know if we just—’
I shake her hands off mine, and she does not try to put them back. There is moisture in her eyes, but I won’t let it weaken me. I’ve been weak for far too long.
‘I refuse to give up on you,’ says Rhona. ‘Sending you to Dundee is my way of doing that. They have better facilities there. They can deal with this far better than us. And Hans will get what’s coming to him.’
I shiver to hear her speak Hans’s name.
‘You don’t understand,’ I say.
‘I’m on your
side
, Kathy! I’m sending you there for your own g—’
‘Go on then. Fuck off. Get it over with.’
I turn my head down to hide the tears. Rhona gets to her feet.
‘I’ve tried my best for you,’ she says in a very small voice. ‘One day you’ll understand that. You’ll look back and know I did my best.’
As she walks from my side, I force myself to remain silent. The door handle trundles round. A swish of fabric. A gasp. Then the floorboard in the corridor creaks, and she’s gone. When I let myself look, the sight of the empty room crushes me.
#
My head is full of horrors. I count my heart as it patters and rises. Towing me into an unknown future. It’s the only clock I need now, and the only one to which I will surrender.
Mary, are you there? Can you see me?
I can’t see you. But I feel you
.
They all left me. Like I knew they would
.
The room is cold enough to see my breath. Slowly, I uncurl my legs and test their strength. I feel light-headed, but that’s okay because for the first time in ages my limbs are light too. When I try to move my legs, they move.
It’s just you and me
.
The room is stuffed full of plants. Tall, black, they sway in the breeze. Far above my head, unable to help me. I want to reach for them, to hide myself in them, but nothing will work now. I am the one to run from. The hard, black kernel of evil. Night animals romp and bark, and I laugh in the knowledge that Hans is not amongst them. He’s not coming, because he’s
dead
.
Over and over, Lina crawls away from me. She roars in the corner like an animal, and roars louder when I try to drag her away. She’s more afraid of me than of Hans.
What have you done?
And the look in her eyes reflects my new self back at me. I can’t bear to see.
There. The bed is sinking now. Flouncing into the cold. Blackness seeps into the sheets. Rising like mould. Staining away the white.
What have you done?
No one calls my name any more. Not even Coral.
Mary. Please
.
And when you respond, my heart cracks with gratitude.
Come down,
you say. So I crawl out of bed. Sink a leg in the water and shunt down to take your hand. A beautiful light waits at the bottom, and with your hand in mine we descend at your own pace. I cannot see the last step. It dissolves into whiteness, like underwater snow clouds, and as we step off into them your hand is the last solid thing left. Animals lurch and bolt beside us.
Badumbadumbadumbadumba …
Heart so loud. Can they hear it?
Shush. It’s all right
.
The walls bend into a tunnel, and as we advance the edges open out. I recognise Rhona’s desk. The mountain, the noticeboard, the soft corduroy sofa. I drop Mary’s hand and sit down.
Can I really do this?
I hug myself and look at Rhona’s desk. Heat leaches out of my bones. But you stroke my head and say,
The cold won’t last
.
On the noticeboard, I recognise a photograph of me and Rhona wearing paper crowns. Rhona has both arms around me. Kissing me on the cheek and squeezing me so hard that my left eye is squashed out of shape. Rhona looks so strong. So protective. She could almost be my mother in that photograph.
But she can’t protect me. She’s thrown me to the wolves.
I picture Rhona signing the Dundee papers, and rage propels me to my feet. I fly at the photograph and rip it off the wall. I tear it into bits. I swipe at the in-tray, fill my fists with paper and sling it across the room. I kick the desk, which sends a jolt through the potted yucca plant. In slow motion, I watch it go down.
Kathy!
That plant was Rhona’s favourite
.
What have you done?
When I look, your hand has disappeared. I cry out.
Mary?
The animals fade from my side, and with a cold shove, I land fully into the room.
Silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock. I crouch forwards, stunned.
Oh God …
I fold onto the floor. It takes some time for my shoulders to stop shaking. My tears have stuck a bit of paper to my hand, and when I look down I find a scrap of photograph there. My own face. Dumb and happy in a yellow paper crown. I yearn to rewind to that moment. But there’s no one to wear crowns with any more. No one to put their arm around me. Rhona has chosen to put herself first. This day has been coming for a long time.
