by C J Morrow
‘Yeah.’ I looked down.
‘We find that at our school. I mean, that A’levels are a lot harder than expected. Some say even harder than university.’ He wiped his napkin across his mouth. ‘Come on, Madeleine, eat up,’ he said, as though diverting the conversation. He sighed, he looked weary.
‘You should have gone to college instead of staying on at school.’ Mum smiled at me with that I-told-you-so look on her face. I don’t know why she felt the need to say that, I don’t know what relevance it had. I’d only stayed at my school because all of my friends had.
I shrugged. I looked down again, running my finger along the rim of my empty plate. Now was my opportunity, if I didn’t say it now, I might never get the chance again.
‘Robin says he’s still willing to tutor me.’
Mum’s eyebrows shot up, she exchanged a look with Dad.
‘You’re still in contact with him?’ Dad frowned.
Oh shit.
‘Not really. Not in contact with him. Not really. You know. I I,’ I stuttered in my lie. ‘I bumped into him. In town. Last week.’ Some of it was true, though I’d never bumped into him anywhere. I had his number, he’d given it to me on our last tutorial before the last exam, but we weren’t in regular contact. He’d been the first person I’d rung immediately after it had finished, the first person I’d rung with my A* result, but we weren’t chatting daily or anything like that. He never rang me, it was always me who rang him.
Neither of my parents spoke, just looked at me, glanced at each other before my mum whipped my little sister’s plate away, while she howled that she hadn’t finished. She soon shut up when apple crumble and ice cream was put in front of her.
Every mouthful of that pudding stuck in my throat. I wanted to kick myself for saying anything. I wanted to rewind time, snatch back the words, but it was too late. Dinner was over, the table was cleared, the conversation not resumed.
A week later, Mum caught me on the landing, I’d just come out of the bathroom, she was sorting through an already tidy airing-cupboard; she’d been waiting for me.
‘Your dad spoke to Robin,’ she said, her eyes watching my face closely. I felt my heart beating in my throat. ‘They’ve agreed he’ll tutor you.’
‘Cool.’ I tried to downplay my elation.
‘Yes. Once a fortnight. Thursdays. He won’t be coming for tea.’
Once a fortnight. Oh. I didn’t dare express my disappointment but Mum read it in my eyes.
‘You don’t need to see him more than that, do you? You’ve got two years to get through. Anyway, you focused too much on Maths last year, you need to focus on your other subjects too. History used to be your strongest.’ Mum closed the airing-cupboard door.
‘Of course.’
‘Good.’
‘I’ve already joined the History study group.’ It was true, I had. But it met on Thursdays, so I would be missing every other week now, but I didn’t tell Mum that.
She smiled. ‘Good. Well done.’
‘Thanks mum.’ I half skipped into my bedroom, but before I closed the door, she was there, in my face, speaking.
‘Don’t be taken in by Robin’s smooth looks and charms,’ she said. ‘He’s far too old for you.’
‘Urgh, Mum. Gross.’ I groaned. I hoped I was conveying sufficient horror at the very idea that Robin could charm me. I don’t know if she was fooled. Looking back, I don’t even know if I was fooled. I knew how old he was. He’d told me. I was fifteen when he started tutoring me and he was twenty-eight. He was still twenty-eight but I was sixteen now. I’d told him I was catching up with him. He’d laughed and said if I believed that then he hadn’t done a very good job teaching me Maths. I loved it when he laughed; his eyes crinkled at the edges. He had the sort of laugh that came from his throat, a bit like a growl. I thought it was so cool.
I still find it sexy, even now.
I hear Mum coming back onto the ward. I assume it is a ward, though without being able to see I don’t know if there are other patients nearby. I can’t hear them, just the radio, it’s on all the time, low, but ever present. I hear Mum’s voice as she speaks to someone, not me, not Robin. Then she approaches the bed, her steps slow.
‘Hi Lyndsey,’ Robin says to Mum. ‘I’m just going. Give you two some time together.’
I hear the chair scrape. I hear Mum slump down into it. You’d think they’d have more than one chair for visitors.
‘You all right now, love?’ She pats my hand and pauses as though I might answer. Would that I could. ‘Maybe it was the book choice.’ She laughs.
I don’t remember her telling me which book she’d brought and I couldn’t see it, because I’m blind. I wonder if anyone knows I’m blind.
‘Anyway. I’m not going to read that one now. Not Harry Potter.’
Harry Potter? How old does she think I am? I’m twenty-eight, not eight. Thank God for that, then. I didn’t even know I had that book. Which one was it? There are so many. I don’t think I’ve ever read one. I’ve seen all the films. I think that was Mads’s book.
‘They’ve got a bit of a book depository in the corridor. You can borrow, or donate. You know. So, I picked up this.’ She waves another book in front of me. I wonder if my eyes are open. Wide and staring. She obviously thinks I can see the book. ‘It’s Jane Austen. We love a bit of Jane Austen, don’t we?’
Do we? I hear the pages turn as she finds the first chapter. She doesn’t tell me what the title is before she starts to read.
‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ My mum is reading Pride and Prejudice.
I’ve never read that book either, but everyone knows that opening line. I suppose it’s a distraction from this misery, this infection that I can’t remember catching. I’ve seen the film with Keira Knightly. I think we watched it together, me and Mum when Dad had a school governors’ meeting one evening, Mads was in bed, and there was just the two of us alone in the house.
Mads would have been five by then. She went to bed at seven-thirty every evening. Good as gold, Mum used to say, implying, or perhaps it was just me inferring, that I hadn’t been good as gold. I still had that feeling of being troublesome, difficult, though I’d never tackled Mum about it. Maybe I was afraid of the response. Maybe I had been a demonic little girl. Anyway, Mum and I sat down to watch Elizabeth and Darcy exchange meaningful looks and splintered words and neither of us noticed that Mads had sneaked back downstairs and was crouching in the corner behind us watching it too. It was ten by the time it finished and Mum had screeched in shock, then annoyance when she’d found Mads wrapped in the panda fleece she kept on her bed and sound asleep. Mads had woken with a scream and Mum had chivvied her back to bed.
‘I don’t know how long she’d been there,’ Mum said, when she came back. ‘What do you think she saw?’
‘There’s nothing in it.’ I laughed, but Mum’s stern face showed she didn’t think it was funny.
‘Juliette, she’s only five.’
‘She probably slept through most of it.’ I said that to make Mum feel better because of course, I had no idea what she’d seen or not seen.
‘Yes. She probably did.’
I got the truth out of the Mads the next day before tea, while Mum was in the kitchen, Dad in his study and we were watching TV in the living room.
‘I saw it all. All of it. Kissy, kissy.’ She laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she giggled.
‘You were asleep.’
‘I was just pretending.’
And I knew that she was telling the truth. Good as gold? No, just better at hoodwinking our mum. She climbed onto my lap and looked into my eyes, holding my face with her little hands. ‘Kissy, kissy,’ she giggled before kissing me on the nose.
I’d giggled with her. I’ve always loved my little sister but I loved her more than ever that day. Little devil.
‘“Oh!” said Lydia stoutly, “I am not afr
aid; for though I am the youngest, I’m the tallest.”’ My Mum’s voice brings me back to the present. I had drifted off and I’ve missed her reading. Lydia, if I remember rightly, was the younger, feistier, louder Bennet sister. Reminds me of Mads a bit. She’s never afraid to say what she thinks. And she’s that age now. Fifteen. I wonder if Mum still thinks Mads is as good as gold.
‘I think that’s enough for now.’ Mum shuts the book, its pages slap closed. ‘Your dad’s hovering in the car park for me. He’s not coming in tonight, it’s been a long day for him, what with the Ofsted. He’ll try and come tomorrow.’
Okay.
She leans in and kisses me on the forehead. I can’t smell her perfume, perhaps she’s not wearing any.
‘Bye love.’ I hear her walk away, in the distance a door closes and I am left in silence, silence except for the slow hissing that is some machine somewhere, pumping air.
I am alone.
‘Hello Juliette. Good visit from your mum?’ Robin’s back. Has he been hovering in the corridor waiting for Mum to leave?
Footsteps come towards me.
‘Hello Juliette. How are we this evening?’ The voice is friendly, unfamiliar and booming. ‘I’m Sue. We have met before but you might not remember. I say this every night, so I hope you’ll forgive me if you’ve heard it before.’ She chuckles to herself.
‘Hi Sue,’ Robin says, his voice cheery. ‘This one is very loud.’ Even though he’s whispering in my ear, I do worry that Sue will hear his comment.
‘I’m going to get you ready for the night, bit earlier than usual but we’re busy tonight. I’ll apologise now for the indignities, but we’re all girls together.’ She laughs then lifts the bedcovers from me and a chill descends.
Ready for the night. I don’t like the sound of this.
Three
I hear curtains as they are whipped around me. Am I in a ward with other people? I haven’t heard anyone else, just the relentless sound of a radio, though never loud enough for me to hear it properly.
‘Ooo, your eyes are looking very sticky today. Have they been done?’ Sue leans over me and I can feel her breath on my face. ‘Tut, tut.’ I hear her pulling on rubber gloves. She starts to dab at my eyes with something wet. A wipe maybe. It seems to go on for ages and as it progresses I realise that my eyes have been shut tight, glued almost. After much diligent wiping by Sue, she pulls up my left eyelid. ‘Now for the drops, I think.’
The liquid, as it hits my eye, feels cooling and soothing. She pulls the lid up and down a few times as though rubbing the drops in. She keeps my eyelid open and I can see light.
I’m not blind. I’m not blind. Well, not completely, anyway.
Sue lets my lid drop and I am unable to force it open. She repeats the process on my right eye. This time I see the skin on her face, its pores magnified, when she peers in after administering the drops.
I am not blind.
I may not be able to open my eyes but I am not blind.
Sue wipes my face, my neck, my hands. Then she lifts whatever I’m wearing – I imagine some hideous crunchy hospital gown – lays a towel completely over my bottom half and proceeds to wipe down the top of my body. I can feel her actions but not the sensation of hot or cold. I think she’s using a wet flannel, because I’m sure I hear her rinsing it and wringing it out.
‘I hear your physio was a bit harrowing this morning,’ Sue says.
I don’t know what she’s talking about.
‘You’ve got a bit of a bruise on your chest. Still, it could be worse.’ The last part is muttered to herself. ‘Your chest is so much better.’
I really don’t know what she’s talking about. I don’t remember any physio.
Robin hasn’t said anything since his first comments about Sue’s loudness, so maybe he’s gone now. I hope he has, because I have a feeling this indignity is about to get worse.
I am right; it does. Sue covers up the top half of me and exposes the bottom. Oh God, the indignity. She’s wiping me. Everywhere. Turning and twisting me so she can gain access. I try to think of other things, try to zone out. Remind myself that this is good, that I am being looked after. But, oh, the indignity. I imagine this is what it must be like to have a baby. I remember Clare at work, after coming back from maternity leave, had joked with another new mother that she had parked her dignity on the hospital doorstep and picked it up on the way out. They’d laughed together about it. Maybe I’ll be able to laugh about this.
Thank God Robin isn’t about. I hope.
Finally, the indignity is over. Sue covers me up with the towel, or it could be a blanket; I can’t really tell.
‘Okay, Juliette, catheter doesn’t need changing, so you’re done once I get you a clean gown.’
Catheter? Catheter.
‘How you doing, Juliette? Has she finished yet?’
Robin is back. He asks the question as if expecting me to answer. I wish I could.
‘Here we are, Juliette. A nice clean gown.’ Sue is back, lifting my right arm and threading it through the sleeve. She doesn’t put my left arm in it, just tucks it around my shoulder. Then tucks it around my body and legs. ‘I just need to reposition you. I’ll apologise now for any discomfort.’
She heaves my legs to the side, then pulls my body to follow them. I think I might fall out of the bed which wobbles, and hisses its displeasure. I wait for Robin to say something, to tell her not to be so rough, to defend me. But he doesn’t.
My chest feels as though it is being crushed. I am in pain.
‘Sorry, Juliette.’ Sue pats my arm. ‘All done now. It’s for your own good. These air-stress beds are good, but we still need to move you. We don’t want you to get pressure sores.’ She pulls the bed clothes over me and I try to relax into my new position as gradually the pain in my chest subsides. ‘I’ll be back in a few hours to turn you again. Try to get some sleep now.’
If I could groan, I would.
How does she know I’m not asleep? Maybe, she doesn’t. Maybe, she just hopes I can hear her.
‘It’s for your own good, Juliette.’ Deep down I know that Robin is right, but I don’t want to hear it. I hurt all over. I didn’t hurt so much before. The effort of all this has exhausted me.
After what seems like minutes, Sue is back.
‘It’s her again. Big mouth.’ Robin’s voice sounds loud to me, but maybe that’s because he’s right by my ear. I hope Sue hasn’t heard, no need to offend her.
‘Sorry, I’ve been so long. I’m running late but we’ve been really busy tonight.’ Sue’s voice is loud. We’re just going to reposition you.’
We?
The bed clothes are removed and two pairs of hands grab at me.
‘How are you, Juliette? All right?’ It’s a new voice, a male one.
I’m heaved into a different position and the bed covers are pulled back up.
‘Those eyes have definitely improved since I was last on. The swelling has really gone down.’ I hear the rustle of paper. ‘And I see your pneumonia is much better, last day of antibiotics tomorrow. Soon have you back to normal. See you later.’ The last few words are said as he moves away. So, while I’m not familiar with him, he is with me. I shudder. I have no dignity. No privacy.
‘I’ve told them it’s not appropriate for a male nurse to look after you, but I was met with blank stares.’ Robin sounds annoyed.
Part of me agrees with him but a part of me doesn’t care. I’m tired. I’m aching. Maybe it shows, because Robin pats my left arm to reassure me.
‘The sooner you wake up the better for all of us, Juliette.’
He’s right. I’m forgetting how many hours he must be spending in that chair. I bet it’s a rigid plastic one. And my poor mum, trawling up here every day. She must be off work. How long will they put up with that?
Robin might as well go home tonight, though, because I can hardly stay awake. I’m exhausted.
I’m awake. But my eyes don’t open and I still cannot move. I’m on
my back again. Have I been moved in my sleep?
I was having that dream again; the car turning and turning. The flames, my body in the tight black coat with the ridiculous big buttons. It’s just a dream. It’s over.
And I have pneumonia. I’ve just remembered. That’s what the male nurse said. Is that how I got to be in this mess? How did I get pneumonia?
‘Morning, Juliette.’ It’s him again. The male nurse. What’s his name? ‘Did you hear what the doctor said? He said they’re so pleased with your progress they’re going to try taking the tube out today.’
What’s he talking about? Tube? Does he mean catheter? I never heard any doctor.
‘That’ll be so much better, won’t it?’ He starts to dab at my eyes. Lifting the lids like Sue did. I get a glimpse of him. His skin is dark, his eyes are caramel. He smiles. He looks friendly, kind. ‘I’m Jeff, by the way, but you already know that.’
I don’t.
‘Hi Jeff,’ Robin says, a smile in his voice. He’s back, or maybe he never went away. ‘Don’t be taken in by his charms,’ he whispers in my ear.
He always says things like that. If we meet someone new, on holiday, at a party, anywhere really, and I comment that they seem nice, he’ll always argue. He says you can’t judge people by their looks, you can’t tell what people are like by their exterior. He always says I’m too ready to think people are nice. In his experience, most people aren’t nice.
I always counter that with how I thought he was nice when I first saw him, and I was right.
I still get a thrill when I think about our first meeting. Our first proper meeting, I mean, not the ones at my parents’ tea table or my dad’s study. I mean our first meeting on our own. It was the following week after our first A’level tutoring session, the Thursday when he wasn’t tutoring me. I told Mum I was going to History study group, but Robin was giving me extra tuition at his house, for free. He said I was worth it.
He picked me up from the end of our street; he drove a little sporty car then, I don’t know what it was, but it was grey. We’d agreed not to tell my parents about the extra tuition; Robin said they might feel obliged to pay him and insist he come to our place. Or stop us. I didn’t want them to stop us.
