by Ali Land
Why did I keep them?
Not treasure for the fairies, not under my pillow.
The answer, it was my way of caring for them.
Jayden. Ben. Olivia. Stuart. Kian. Alex. Sarah. Max. Daniel.
Nine little somethings I wanted to help.
You never knew I kept them.
Nobody did.
33
Tubes.
In me.
Lights.
Above me.
Dry throat, choking. A needle in the back of my hand, the shape of a butterfly. Wet on my face, a small stream. Tears. I don’t want to cry, no point. Feel. Fear. Nothing to fear. Fear nothing. Fear everything.
Is anybody there?
Cold hands collide with my skin. Nudge. Turn. My eyes prised open with fingers. A blaze of light, a torch the size of a pen wages an assault on each pupil. A voice with an accent tells a story about a teenage overdose, stomach pumped. Attempted suicide. Multiple pills. Lucky.
Is that what you call it.
A language of numbers and letters, bloods and things. Things and blood. Discussed. A white coat, a clipboard in her arms, looks down at a chart. Pauses.
Increase sedation, the white coat says.
Pulled under again.
The next time I come round Mike’s at my side. Air in my heart leaks, a balloon deflates. He’s split open, his body bent over the bed. I can’t speak, I’ve lost my voice, I’ve lost more than that. I squeeze his hand, he looks up.
‘Milly, you’re awake. Thank god you’re awake.’
I try to reply, say sorry he couldn’t fix me, I hate me, I’m bad on the inside.
‘Don’t try and talk, you need to rest,’ he says.
He reaches above my head, presses a button. My pupils blink question marks, he reads them well, tells me a story. My story.
‘You took an overdose, you didn’t come down for breakfast so I came to check, the bathroom door was locked, we had to force it open. You’ve had your stomach pumped and you’re heavily sedated still, everything’s bound to be fuzzy for a while but you’re going to be okay.’
The door to my room opens, I struggle to focus but the blonde hair gives her away.
‘She’s awake.’
‘Yes, still spaced out on the meds, but awake.’
Saskia doesn’t come to the bedside, stays back, but says, good, I’m glad, should we call someone?
‘I have, one of the nurses should be here in a minute. Okay, Milly?’
I nod but I’m not sure I’ll last. Eyelids, heavy. Mike, a speck. Smudged. The room is a boat. Seasick. A shadow, shiny and huge, a whale swims under, surfaces beside me, mouth open wide. I look inside. A mistake. I’ve made so many. They look back at me, their faces scared, hands reach out to me. I lean out of my boat as far as I can, I want to save them. A voice says ‘No’. I’ve never heard him speak but I think it is god, the one I don’t believe in. He laughs. Hard and relentless. The sea becomes wild, I can’t get to them now. Nine, if I count. They hang their heads, they know what awaits, the whale closes its mouth, dives out of sight. I’m pulled back to the white, the room, too bright. A nurse speaks to Mike and Saskia, come with me please, June’s here. The next time I open my eyes Phoebe is there. Is she? Smile for the camera, dog-face. No, please don’t, my voice a whisper, a foreigner to me. Too late. A flash in my face. You’re the spit of your mother. I close my eyes, open them again straight away but she’s not there, never was, my mind playing tricks on me.
There’s a TV mounted on the wall, switched on but no volume, subtitles roll along the bottom of the screen. Headlines about the sinking of a ferry and just for a second I thought I saw your face. A machine to my left, previously a sleepy steady beat, now louder, attached to my heart, registers a reaction to you. I try to slow my breathing but the beeping gets faster, I close my eyes, pull me under again, please. I look back at the TV, the news is finished if it was ever on, a game show instead, contestants making up words.
I try to sit up, no strength in my arms. The conversation between June, Saskia and Mike. Where will I go? The new family won’t want me now. We’re not sure we can have that kind of person in our house, they’ll say, isn’t she better off staying where she is? Yes, I am, I realize that now. I want to stay. Room for us both, Phoebe and me. Please.
I turn back to the TV, your face fills the screen. Underneath, one word, flashing. Enlarged.
ESCAPED
You nod and smile, tell me you’re coming for me. I hear someone screaming and realize it’s me. I thrash in the bed, the butterfly in the back of my hand flies off, other tubes and wires too. The machine monitoring my heart emits an alarm, a dull continuous tone, the wire has come off, can’t detect a heartbeat. Heartless. Can’t. Find. My. Heart. A doctor runs in, calm down, calm down, he says, pushing my shoulders into the bed. Mike and Saskia enter the room next. The doctor shouts for somebody to get Olanzapine, 5mg IM.
‘She’s coming for me,’ I hear myself say.
‘Nobody’s coming for you, Milly, you’re safe.’
The nine little somethings watch from the corner of the room, their heads low, eyes moist, down-turned mouths.
A white coat.
A needle.
Sleep.
34
I’m transferred from the medical ward to the teenage psychiatric unit. It won’t be for long Mike reasoned, a short focused admission to review your medication. No more than a week. He couldn’t look me in the eyes when he said the word ‘medication’, as if it was his fault. Too blasé with handing them out, he thinks.
A nurse monitors my every move, they call it constant observation. A one on one. A clipboard hangs on the wall outside my room, every hour, on the hour, a tick on the page.
Toilet. Tick. Lunch. Tick. Alive. Tick.
Can I be left alone? No.
Can I go online? No.
Can I leave?
A slow shake of the head.
This time I play by the rules, I even take the pills they give me, maybe they help as I sleep for hours and don’t see you once. June’s been in a couple of times, said my placement with the Newmonts had been extended until after Christmas but following that I’ll be moved into a new family. I ask her if Phoebe knows what happened. No. She thinks you had appendicitis, Mike told her there’d been a few complications but you’d be home soon.
How will she do it, I wonder. How will she tell everyone who I am?
The girl in the room next to mine visits too. She cradles a stuffed rabbit. Prozac meet Milly. Milly meet Prozac. Why is he called Prozac, I asked her. She laughed, replied in a sing-song voice, my psychiatrist asks me that too. Yesterday the girl came into my room, stood at the side of my bed fondling the inner pink bits of the rabbit’s ears, and said, I tell my psychiatrist I call bunny Prozac because he makes me feel better.
Josie, out of Milly’s room please, one of the nurses said.
Quick, she said, give me your hand. She guided my finger through a hole in the rabbit’s fur, another belly full of pills. But really it’s because bunny likes Prozac too, she said, winked and pirouetted out of my room.
Little blue pills, gifts from the gods or the psychiatrists who prescribe them who think they are gods. I want to tell her to take them, do as they say, but I used to be her, squirrelling them away. Take them, don’t take them, placebo spelt backwards is Obecalp. 10mg of Obecalp for the girl in room five please. I learnt fast at the first secure unit I stayed in, became wise to the language they used to try and fool us. Looking back, maybe I was the fool because after almost a week of staying here, taking my pills and talking to the nurses, I feel better.
Almost okay.
The discharge panel happened today. Mike and Saskia, June came too. A panel in psych is circular so you feel part of it, not like an interviewee. No uniforms either. Equals. Who decides who’s mad, your words but I didn’t want to hear them so I focused on telling the staff I felt safe. When they asked me, out of ten, how safe do you feel? A nine out of ten, I replied, I�
��m working on the last one. Smiles around the table, my attempt at a joke appreciated.
The overdose was attributed to delayed stress from the trial and lack of sleep. No need to focus on it, let’s move forward, the senior nurse said to Mike, this wasn’t anybody’s fault. Discharge granted, I get to go home, Friday 25 November, one week until I’m sixteen. I go to my room and pack up my things, no nurse at the door, I’m alive, no need to tick any more. A boy I’ve hardly seen enters my room, rushes at me, my back against the wall. His mouth is gluey with saliva, side effects from his pills, not a nice feeling when he’s trying to get better. He tells me they’re after me too, the men who come into his room at night. He whispers, looks behind him, don’t let them in, he says. Even with the vulgar mess of his lips, the madness in his eyes, I fantasize about kissing him, telling him afterwards I’m dying. From what, he’d ask, did they do something to you? I don’t know, I’d answer, something that happened a long time ago, I think. I want to tell him it won’t be men that come for me in the night.
It’ll be you.
How safe do you feel now?
One out of ten, maybe two.
35
Yesterday, Mike cancelled his Saturday clients and took the day off. He made everybody pancakes with bacon and maple syrup for breakfast, we all ate together and for once it went okay. Phoebe seemed happy, smiling. A glimmer of hope inside me, maybe she’s decided to let go of the idea I’m something to do with you, or maybe she knows but feels sorry for me, wants to make it work between us. She and Saskia went out for the morning, a shopping trip, Mike looked so pleased. The simple things.
He supervises my medication closely now. The staff at the unit advised him to give me my pills with a warm drink, make me stay in the room long enough for the heat of the liquid to dissolve the drug into my bloodstream, and he does, which is fine. I want him to know he can trust me. I want to stay.
Once Saskia and Phoebe left we met for a session, he asked me what I’d like to talk about. I wanted to tell him I’d spent most of the week in the unit thinking about what Phoebe knows and what she’s going to do about it, but instead I told him about being in the hospital room where my bed was a boat and how a whale swam underneath. I told him I’d imagined you on TV, the word ‘escaped’ on the screen. He explained it was the sedatives I was given, that they can create hallucinations. He also said he wanted me to come to him if I ever felt unsafe. That I was to stop bottling things up. We don’t want you ending up back in hospital. Okay?
At the end of the session he handed me an envelope. I opened it, a get well card from Ms James. Mike explained he’d told everybody, not just Phoebe, that I had appendicitis, didn’t feel it necessary to inform the school exactly what had happened given that the end of term was coming up. He asked if I thought I’d be ready to go back on Monday. Yes, I told him, I really like it at Wetherbridge, it’s the best school I’ve been to. I’m also aware Miss Kemp knows, he said, Ms James emailed me, but you needn’t be concerned, she won’t tell anybody. No, I thought, but your daughter might.
Today, Mike and I decide to walk to the markets. On the way he tells me he’s sent an email out about my birthday, arranged a tea at home next Saturday, there should be a good few folk popping by. I thank him but find myself lost in thoughts about what my sixteenth would have been like had I been with you.
We buy hot chocolate from one of the stalls and the lady who serves us asks me if I’m looking forward to Christmas. Yes, I tell her, but it’s my birthday first. She looks at Mike, tries to guess my age. Looking at your dad I’d say you were seventeen. I smile, almost right, I’ll be sixteen. I didn’t care that she got it wrong because when she said ‘looking at your dad’, Mike didn’t correct her. I go to smile at him but he’s looking the other way, he didn’t hear what she said.
After we get home I text Morgan to see if she’s still coming over later. I wasn’t allowed my phone in hospital, so by the time I was discharged there were loads of messages from her. She thinks it was my appendix too, and I’m hoping she won’t ask to see the scar. I’m really looking forward to seeing her, making sure she’s okay. The house is quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Phoebe’s out, probably at Izzy’s, and Saskia’s having a lie-down. Mike’s in his study, catching up with work, he said. Writing about me, maybe.
I try to sketch but I can’t concentrate. I can’t help thinking about Phoebe. It’s not in her nature to let things go, it’s not in her nature to try and understand. I wish I could go to her room, read her emails, but it’s too risky with Mike around. She was happy at breakfast yesterday, smiling. It’s not because I’m back, of course it’s not, it’s because she’s thought of a plan.
I’m frightened. I miss the nurse ticking the form on the clipboard, Josie pirouetting around my room. I don’t want to be on my own. Ground. Shaky. I want to tell Mike I’m worried Phoebe’s found out but I’m not sure how to. I don’t want him to know I’ve broken house rules, been into her room.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to him but I go to his study anyway, he told me to come to him any time I needed to. I’m about to knock on the door, my hand mid-air, halfway to the wood, but I hear him talking to someone on the phone. I drop my arm down, turn my head so my ear’s against the door, listen to the small talk. Plans for Christmas and New Year, then I hear him talking about me.
‘I think you’re right, June, it’s time for Phoebe to come first, no question about that. I’m sorry we’ve changed our minds, but now that Milly’s back I realize it’s too much having both of them here and, to be honest, supporting her through the trial and with what happened recently, it’s taken its toll on me. On all of us. I could use a bit of normality again.’
He pauses, as June responds.
‘Yes, agreed, it feels too early to tell her, too soon after the overdose, but I’m sure she’ll be fine when I do. I’ll be gentle.’
I back away from the door. I don’t feel like telling him I’m scared any more. He told me to stop bottling things up, but how can I talk to someone who I know doesn’t want me here.
When Morgan arrives on my balcony the sight of her moves me. Is home a place or is it a person? We sit on the bed, she asks me how I’m feeling but not to see the scar. I ask her how she is too, she was injured the last time I saw her, the swelling around her mouth gone, the scrape on her forehead healed.
‘You know how your favourite book’s Peter Pan, Mil?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, it’s also my sister’s favourite movie. We watched the DVD last week and you know how Peter gets something for Wendy to say thanks? Well, I got you something.’
She takes it out of her pocket, hands it to me. It’s a small gold locket similar to the ones I’ve seen at the antique stalls in the market. I open it, no pictures inside.
‘I thought maybe one day you could put my picture in one side and yours in the other.’
Both of us smile and I realize how much she means to me and that I don’t have to hurt her to keep her safe. She’s doing okay as she is. She lies down on the bed, I ask if I can sketch her. I want to start a new series of portraits, one where I don’t have to smudge the faces.
36
I found my first couple of days back at school difficult, the noise in the canteen louder, the collisions in the corridors harder. The perpetual fear of Phoebe spreading the word. I’ve tried my best to stay out of her way, hoping as if by magic she’ll forget who I am. Who she thinks I am. The waiting is worse – not knowing why she hasn’t told anybody yet.
When school ends today I go down to the locker room to collect my stuff and she’s there with Marie, who asks her to go to Starbucks. Phoebe says no, there’s some stuff she needs to do at home.
‘I’ll walk out with you though if you give me a minute, I just need to read this email.’
She smiles as she looks at the screen of her phone.
‘Who’s it from?’ Marie asks.
‘Nobody,’ she replies, glancing over at me. ‘It’s just
about something I’ve got planned for tomorrow.’
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
On the way up to the Great Hall I send Mike a message, remind him I’ll be set-building for the play until seven. He replies saying not to worry, both he and Saskia will be at his office celebrating the refurb completion, they’ll be back a similar time to me. Keeping busy is the trick, I focus on painting and building, and halfway through the evening I offer to go to the shop just by school, buy snacks for everybody, a much-needed sugar hit. I realize when we finish just after seven, with a good bit of the set built, I enjoyed it, a welcome distraction.
I walk out with MK, tell her I’ve started a new series of portraits. She’s pleased, time to move on, she says. Yes, I agree. It is.
‘Will you be all right getting home?’ she asks.
‘Fine thanks, I live super close.’
‘Okey-doke. See you tomorrow, Milly.’
‘Bye.’
I’m halfway home when my phone rings. Mike’s name flashing on the screen and when I answer he says, ‘Where the hell are you?’
‘I’m just walking home, I’ve been –’
‘You are not to come home, do you hear me?’
His voice is forced, strained. So different from normal.
‘Go next door to Valerie’s and stay there until I say so.’
‘Mike, you’re scaring me, what’s happened?’
‘Do as I say. Do not come home, do you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
As I approach the house it looks normal. I don’t want to go to Valerie’s but she’s waiting for me on the road, hurries me inside to hers.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask her. ‘Mike scared me.’
‘We’re not really sure at the moment but it’ll be okay. Come on in, out of the cold.’
Every time I’ve heard those words – it’ll be okay – it never has been.
It doesn’t take long. I hear sirens first, screaming to a halt outside our house. Valerie takes me into the living room overlooking the garden, not the street, asks me if I’d like something to eat or drink.
