by Eva Woods
Rosie’s head felt strangely clear, as if the insomnia had filled her bones with clean white fire. The long hours of the night over, watching a pink dawn break. Staring at that packet, the silver winking in the sun from the window, illuminating all the dust and mess of Rosie’s flat. Of her life. None of it mattered. What mattered now was the rest of her life. If there was to be one. On the one hand, there was the mess she’d made of everything. Petey, Luke, Caz, her career, everything. The pills seemed to call to her from their shiny packet, the peace of it all. To just sleep, and not wake up. It was dangerous, how much she thought about it. On the other, how could she do that? To her parents, who’d already lost a child? To everyone who knew her? Would they care? There was only one way to find out. She’d contact them all. She’d say sorry. And then she’d decide what to do next.
She started with the easier ones, knowing she’d need to work up the courage. First, Caz did not pick up – understandable, perhaps. Ingrid, who she knew would be at her desk, did not reply to the email. They hadn’t talked in years, of course. Understandable. Normal. Same with Angie, who was most likely doing the school run: Rosie knew from Facebook she had kids. But then her mother didn’t answer the phone – her mother, who never went anywhere! Did she have caller ID, was she screening her own daughter? – and her father didn’t either. Daisy had been a shock. She’d actually rejected the call, sending it to voicemail. Rosie’s little sister, always so eager to please, so easy to win round with a hug or a Toffo, did not want to speak to her. The damage between them must lie deeper than Rosie had even thought. Mr Malcolm and Melissa, they were dead, the guilt of that lying heavy on her. Of being too late. Ella – she was too afraid to contact her. And then, aware that it was make or break, that everything was hanging on this, she’d called up an old email account, trying to remember the password with various failed attempts, resetting it. After that night in the hotel, she’d done her best to forget him, changing her own email address so his wouldn’t be stored in there, deleting his number from her phone. But that morning, throwing caution to the wind with both hands, she’d opened the email account and there they were. Messages from Luke, sent every day since she’d run from his door. Sending his number. Asking her to call, to get in touch. To come and meet him at their old spot. Saying that he’d go there each day hoping to see her, that he understood sometimes you couldn’t say these things in an email or over the phone, but only standing opposite each other in flesh and blood.
She didn’t even stop to reply. She just picked up her phone and ran. If she’d been thinking straight – if she’d slept much at all in the past few weeks – she might have paused, answered, washed her hair, got dressed. As it was, she just went to him.
‘My phone.’ She remembered, now, alone in the bright white. It had been in her hand, and she’d been frantically typing out a message to him, saying she’d meet him there, she was on her way. Ready to say all the things she should have said to him years ago. That she’d always loved him, from the moment she’d seen him on that beach, all the way to Marrakesh, the years between seeing him in the pub, all those miserable snatched times together, then more years apart. She’d loved him for every second of every day she’d known him. And she was here, still, if he wanted her. She’d dropped the phone in her haste to get to him, knocked the battery out. Pieced it back together, half-walking, half-jogging over the bridge. The date and time had wiped themselves, as they always did when you took the battery out of her old, cheap phone, so error messages were coming up, and impatient, she’d tried to reset it as she hurried along. The dial. The numbers. Not time travel, nothing like that. Simply the last thing she had seen before the bus ploughed into her – numbers, a grey background, noise and light in the background. That could have been it for Rosie Cooke. She could have been killed. Instead, she’d been granted this extra time to come back to the world, a world she’d left messy and hurt, to her own body that was screaming in pain, to understand all the mistakes she’d made along the way. She had not been trying to kill herself. She had been trying to live.
‘But I couldn’t change it! I couldn’t make a difference.’ Rosie could see nothing, but she understood, somehow, she was not alone after all. People were here with her. Grandma. Darryl. Mr Malcolm. Melissa. And Petey. She would not be alone here, even if she could not come back to her life again. The dark is hugging you.
But her mother, her father. Daisy. Luke. Oh, Luke. If only she could have spoken to them one last time. If only love was enough to bring you back.
Daisy
Luke – she couldn’t get over how handsome he was; really, he had a sort of glow about him – sat in the waiting room, head in his hands. ‘I’m too late.’
‘We don’t know that. It’s just … they’ve taken her for surgery.’ Emergency brain surgery. That wasn’t good. But for some reason Daisy felt she had to be optimistic for this man she’d never met before. Who her sister loved. ‘So … Ella called you?’
‘Yeah. She’s … she’s not a bad person. Her and I, we just didn’t work.’ Daisy was very aware of her mother in the background, looking puzzled. How to explain what she’d found out, who Ella was?
She said, ‘Can you tell us what happened that day? You asked Rosie to meet you?’ That was where her sister had been going, why she was up so early on that bright day. Luke had emailed her – to an old account, not the one linked to her phone – to say please come. Please come and meet me now, we have to talk. She would have been rushing, half-dressed, in her eagerness to see him. Not looking as she stepped into the road. Thinking only of him. Daisy had found the message in the drafts folder of Rosie’s phone, where she hadn’t thought to look before. She must have been writing it as the bus hit, knocking the phone from her hand, slamming into Rosie and changing her life, and all of their lives, for ever.
‘I thought she just hadn’t turned up again,’ he explained. ‘She never replied. Why would she, after what I did? Letting her run off that day, not chasing after her … I was ashamed. I should never have married Ella, but there was the kid, you see. Well, he’s not actually mine, as it turns out, but … he is, if you see what I mean. I couldn’t just leave him. So I did what Rosie said. Tried again with Ella. But it’s over now. I’ll still be in Charlie’s life, of course, but Ella and I … I wanted to contact Rosie, to tell her that, but she’d changed her number and email. So I thought that was her answer. Not replying, not being there any day I went. I thought she’d decided I was no good after all.’
‘But she was coming.’ Daisy could picture it all now. Rosie, her phone in her hand, trying to find the location or even maybe texting to say she was coming, please wait. Not looking where she was going. Stepping out, in expectation of seeing Luke again, and then the speed of the bus. ‘She wasn’t trying to … It was an accident. Mum, it was an accident!’
Her mother’s face was set in hard lines. ‘Daisy. Darling. It doesn’t matter. Don’t you see?’
And Daisy understood. Even if Rosie hadn’t been trying to kill herself, if she’d stepped out by accident, not looking, rushing to meet Luke, then it didn’t make a difference. She was going into surgery right now and they were opening up her brain. She might die anyway.
‘Oh God.’ Suddenly she understood. Rosie might die. Rosie was in the operating room right now, fighting for her life.
Rosie
‘What’s happening to me now?’ she said, to the empty bright air.
‘They’re about to operate on you, dearie.’ Grandma’s voice. ‘Your brain is bleeding, swelling up in your head, see.’
Mr Malcolm. ‘They have to cut out a piece of your skull so it has somewhere to go. You’re just slipping under now.’
‘My – my skull?’
‘No worries, mate.’ Darryl. ‘They do it all the time. They can close it up again, no bother. Let go, Rosie. Let them work.’
‘We’ll be right there with you,’ said Melissa, sounding cheerful. Rosie didn’t know why. They were cutting into her skull so her brain co
uld come out – that didn’t sound like much to be cheerful about.
‘Grandma? Is … is Petey there?’
‘Aye, pet, I have him.’
That was good. It was comforting to think Grandma had been looking after Petey all this time. She knew she didn’t really believe this – she knew they were both just gone, vanished for ever – but it made her feel better all the same. ‘Is he OK?’
‘He’s fine. We’re all OK here. That’s what happens … after. It’s only in the world you have pain and accidents and people chopping your skull open.’
‘Or your chest,’ said Darryl darkly. ‘You wouldn’t believe how long it took to get those pecs, either.’
‘Can I see?’ Melissa said eagerly. Oh God. The voices of the dead were flirting in her subconscious. What kind of brain did she have that imagined these things in its dying moments? She realised why she’d hallucinated these ghostly companions for herself, as her brain clung to life, jumbled and terrified. The human mind could not imagine itself dead, switched off like a phone with its battery out. Which was what she was now, at least temporarily.
‘Grandma?’
‘We’ll be here, love. You have to go now. Say goodbye to Petey.’
She felt a pressure in her arms, like the weight of a small boy, his sticky face pressed into her neck. His breath. But Petey had not breathed in nearly thirty years. She held him close. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
But she knew, though he didn’t speak, that he didn’t blame her for what had happened. The dead did not have time for blame. They were just gone.
She was panicking. ‘Will you be here when I wake up? If I wake up? Will you be there if I don’t?’
‘I can’t say, lovie. If you believe in things like that, I’ll always be with you. But as to what you’ll see and hear, I don’t know.’
Wait. Wait! I’m not re— She went down, trying and failing to hold on to these last tattered remnants of herself. Of Rosie Cooke. Then she was just … nowhere.
Daisy
Time. Sometimes it crept along, the minute hand of the office clock seeming frozen. Sometimes it leapt and flew, and a year went by and she could barely think of anything she’d done with it. But this, sitting in the waiting room while Rosie had emergency brain surgery – this was a moment where she wanted time to both race ahead and freeze. On the one hand, if they stayed here for ever, Rosie was alive and there was hope. On the other, it was excruciating sitting there with the bad coffee and plastic leather seats that moulded to your bum, dwelling over and over on how Gary wasn’t even there with her, how her parents sat with three chairs between them, and how Luke paced up and down, asking questions that no one knew how to answer. Her father kept stealing glances at him, and no wonder – they didn’t exactly know how to explain who he was. He had offered to go, leave them to be just family – he had nice manners – but her mother had insisted he stay. Maybe to soften the jagged edges of all the broken things that lay between the three of them. So he was there, handsome in his navy jumper and grey jeans, working his hands over and over. Somewhere, at the bottom of Daisy’s stomach, all that information was sitting ready to be sifted through. Rosie having an affair with a married man. Being in love with him for most of her adult life. She wondered would there ever be a good time to discuss all that. Her sister’s secrets, spread out like her broken body, to be handled and poked by strangers. It wasn’t right.
‘How long did they say it would be?’ her mother said. They’d lost all track of time now. It was somewhere deep into the night, dark outside, the overhead bulbs frazzling their eyes. The end of day three.
‘Three hours at least. Maybe longer.’ Right now, a few rooms away, people had their hands inside Rosie’s head. They would have shaved a patch of her bright red curls and sawn her skull open. Daisy shuddered. How did doctors do it, get past the horror of cutting through skin and bone, opening up what should have stayed hidden for ever?
Luke stood up violently. ‘This is my fault. If I hadn’t … she wouldn’t have …’
‘We can’t think like that,’ said her mother. ‘It was an accident, that’s all. Could have happened to any one of us, the way those drivers bomb along …’
The bus driver. Daisy had barely thought about him, dimly remembering the doctor saying the police weren’t going to prosecute. Because it wasn’t his fault Rosie had stepped into the road, not looking, fiddling with her phone. He wouldn’t have had time to stop. At least she had been happy in the moment. Going to meet the love of her life.
‘And where did you meet Rosie again?’ said her father suspiciously.
‘Crete. It was … a long time ago.’ Luke stared at his hands. He had good hands, strong and broad. Daisy thought fleetingly of Gary’s, which she’d always found unnaturally small. And where the hell was he? Was he gone for good, like she’d told him to? Was she not engaged any more? She’d pretty much agreed to go out with Adam, hadn’t she? But she was still wearing her ring. Everything was so confusing.
‘And you’ve seen her since then …?’
Luke just shrugged, helpless. ‘Mr Cooke, I don’t think it’s up to me to tell you the story. But I can say that I have always loved her. Always.’ Luke was good at reading signals, it seemed. He motioned to the door. ‘I, er … I’ll just get us some teas. Give you all time to be together.’ Polite. Thoughtful. Handsome. Why had Rosie ever let him go?
When he’d gone, her father also sprang to his feet. ‘Bloody hospitals. Can’t stand this. Reminds me of when Mum passed.’
‘Your mother was old,’ said Daisy’s mother, slightly cross. ‘She died playing bridge and drinking too much cream sherry. It wasn’t like this.’
‘And who’s this chap that’s suddenly turned up? Eh? Some random stranger?’
‘Rosie said his name,’ Daisy said, feeling the weight of the story press on her. ‘I … Dad, I think she’d want him here. OK? Mum asked him to stay.’
‘Alison?’
‘That’s right, Mike. I let you have your wife and child here, didn’t I, even though she’s far too young to be exposed to a situation like this.’
‘She’s Rosie’s sister.’
‘Half-sister. And I can’t imagine Rosie would want the woman who stole her father at her bedside. It was very insensitive of you, Mike. But then that’s you all over. Selfish. You never thought of the impact you were having on Rosie.’
‘Oh, here we go. And you did, when you took to your bed for months and left her and Daisy to their own devices? She cut her finger off, Alison!’
‘It was grief, Mike! Not that you would understand that. You were never there!’
‘I was working! Someone had to, since you’d given up functioning. And you never thought about how it was for me. I was grieving too, but I still had to keep going, put food on the table!’
Daisy bowed her head, listening to their angry voices buzz. What was this for Rosie to wake up to? A family who hated each other, fractured down the middle?
Shakily, she got to her feet. Find your voice, Maura always said, when she had to do presentations. Don’t mumble, Daisy. Put your words into the world. ‘Mum, Dad … you need to stop this. I know you’re both worried and you’re sad over Petey, but still.’
They both reacted as if she’d slapped them. Petey’s name had not been said out loud for years now.
‘I know, I know, I said his name, but we have to talk about it. Our family is … a disaster zone. No wonder Rosie’s a mess. No wonder I’m …’ About to marry someone I don’t even like. She swallowed. ‘It was no one’s fault, Petey. It was a terrible accident. Not Mum’s fault, not Rosie’s. And Mum, I know you were hurt Dad left, but it was years ago and he was just trying to be happy. It’s not Scarlett’s fault she was born. I wish you’d try and be happy too. That nice neighbour of yours …’
‘What’s that?’ said her dad, frowning.
Her mother wrung her hands awkwardly. ‘He bought the Smiths’ old place. John. He’s … well, he’s my boyfriend.’ A sob burst o
ut. ‘And I wish he was here with me, but I didn’t think it was right, after I’ve been such a bitch about you and Carole!’
Daisy and her dad gaped. Finally, he said, ‘Bought the Smiths’ old place, eh? Done anything about that knotweed problem?’
‘Well, yes, he’s a wonderful gardener.’
‘That’s … good.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Alison … I know I did wrong, leaving you and the girls. I just … I felt like I’d go under if I didn’t get out. I was just trying for a bit of happiness. I … I’d love it if you did the same, honestly I would.’
‘I’m … trying. I really am.’
Daisy couldn’t believe she was hearing this.
‘I’m sorry, Ali. What a mess, eh?’
‘I’m sorry too. We mustn’t blame ourselves too much. Not many could have got through … what happened.’ She turned to Daisy. ‘Does Rosie really …? She thinks I blame her for … Petey?’
‘Well, yeah, Mum. The guilt’s been crushing her for years. You don’t think that explains all this? You don’t think that’s why, when a handsome, lovely man like Luke wants her, she does her best to ruin it, because she thinks she doesn’t deserve to be happy? Why she sabotages every friendship and opportunity she ever has?’
They were staring at her. ‘Darling …’
‘No, Mum. Both of you need to listen. If Rosie wakes up, we have to start again. Be a family, even if it’s a family with some extra people in it. We have to try and love each other. Because Petey is gone but we’re still here, and we have to try and live, and be happy, before it’s too late.’
She turned. Luke was in the doorway, carrying four paper cups in his large hands. He must have heard most of it. Even the bit where she called him handsome and lovely. He blinked. ‘Er … tea OK for everyone?’
Her parents took theirs with a big show of thanks, even her father, urging Luke to sit down and tell them about himself, and the awkward moment passed, and Daisy had said what she needed to. Her words had been folded back into the batter of their family. Could people change? Daisy had to believe it was possible. If her sister’s brain getting crushed wasn’t enough to heal their family, then nothing was. She just had to hope Rosie came back in order to see it.
