by Amy Cross
“I know I should come more often,” I continue. “Once a month isn't enough, but I've been so busy and I didn't want to just pop in briefly, and even though I should have made time I -”
“You don't have anything to worry about,” she says, interrupting me. I swear, there seem to be tears in her eyes. “You come a lot more often than most people. You're doing just fine. You should sit with her for a while, though. Talk to her. It doesn't even matter what it's about, just tell her all the mundane details of your day.”
“Do you think she can hear me?”
“I think it's possible,” she continues. “It's definitely worth a try. Would you like me to bring you some tea or coffee?”
I shake my head, and the nurse walks away. For some reason I wait in silence, listening to the sound of her footsteps until she's all the way around the far corner. Then I wait some more, until finally I realize that I've been unintentionally holding my breath.
I guess I'm stalling.
Left all alone in the doorway, I turn and look at Mum again. I want to run out of here and never come back, but I could never forgive myself if I abandoned her again. I have to be a good daughter, I have to at least try to help, so I force myself to step over to the bed. Mum's face is exactly the same as last time, as if she hasn't moved a muscle. I know the nurses have been bathing her regularly and looking after her, but I never see any of that. To me, Mum just seems to stay completely still in this bed and never moves at all.
I haven't seen so much as an eyelid flicker, not since that night at the house.
“Maddie!” she gasped as she clung to me, with blood gushing from her nose. “Don't wait for me! Run!”
I flinch as that memory briefly hits. I try so hard to keep from thinking about what happened in the basement at Cathmore Road, but occasionally little flashes of memory burn their way into my thoughts. Although I always manage to push those memories out within a second or two, that's more than long enough for me to be left shaken. I wish they'd stay away completely, but that's probably a forlorn hope. They'll always be with me.
And now here I am yet again, standing at the foot of Mum's bed, watching her face and waiting in case she miraculously opens her eyes. I'm just waiting for a miracle that I know won't ever come.
Still, I'm here now.
I should try something.
“It's me,” I say finally, even though I feel pretty stupid speaking to someone who can't hear me. Or can she hear me? Is she in there somewhere, listening to my voice? For all I know, she might be trapped and screaming in there, begging me not to leave. Or she might be lost in a deep, endless sleep.
No, not endless.
She's going to wake up one day, I know it.
“I'm sorry I haven't been for a while,” I say finally. “Things have been nuts at work and... Well, you know how it is. I should come more often, though. I know that. I'll try to do better, I promise. It's not that I don't care, Mum. I do, you have to know that. It's just that I don't know what to do, but I'll come more often from now on, I promise.”
Sighing, I realize that I made the exact same promise last month too. And look how that worked out.
“I really promise this time,” I add. “I mean it.”
I do, I swear.
This time I'll be better.
I remember Mum screaming in the basement.
Stepping around the side of the bed, I sit down and then take hold of her left hand. I can't quite delude myself into believing that she feels my touch, but at the same time I can't help thinking that at least there's a chance. A tiny, minuscule chance, the kind of chance that only desperate people cling to but... a chance, nonetheless. And so long as she continues to breathe, so long as her chest rises and falls, then I won't be able to give up on a faint glimmer of hope. I guess that's the problem with hope. It nags and nags, and there's nothing you can do to make it go away. And eventually hope metastasizes and takes you over completely. I'm afraid of drowning in hope.
Still, there's only one thing that could make me give up hope when it comes to Mum. And that's a thing that I'm not willing to contemplate.
“What are you doing here?” I remember sobbing, struggling to get to my feet. Hearing footsteps shuffling closer, I turned and saw Jerry coming toward us. “Why is she here?” I screamed. “What do you want from us?”
Closing my eyes, I try to force the memory away.
And then I felt something touching my arm, and I turned to see the old woman leaning toward me with a big, hungry grin.
“Blood!” she gasped, pushing Mum aside and placing a hand on the side of my face, slipping her fingers toward the edge of my mouth. “My blood!”
I open my eyes.
The memory is gone. Well, not gone, more... back beneath the surface. For now, anyway.
“Please, Mum,” I whisper, “try to hear me. Try to realize that I'm here. Try to open your eyes.” I rub her hand, trying to make her a little warmer. “I'm here and I'm waiting for you, and I'm sorry for all the pain and hurt I caused you. I'm right here, and I won't ever stop coming to see you, because I know you're going to wake up one day. Okay? I know that. It's just a matter of when, not if.”
I stay completely still for a moment, and completely silent, rubbing her hand as if somehow I'm going to magically massage her awake. Finally I force myself to look at her face again.
She seems so calm, so content, but I can't help wondering what's going on in her head. Is she dreaming? Is she remembering that awful night at the house? Or is she remembering the time when I ran away from home, when I finally decided that I couldn't be around her anymore? Looking back now, I feel utterly, uncontrollably guilty. At the time, I thought she was simply out of her mind, I didn't understand what had really happened or why she was the way she was. I didn't know that she tasted peaches too, or that she was connected to the house. Maybe if I'd been more patient, more understanding... Maybe if I'd been a better daughter, I could have realized that she was suffering. I could have helped her.
I guess Jerry was telling the truth when he said the madness had been passed down through generations of my family. Still, I think he was wrong when he said that with me the madness had finally diluted just enough to make one of us stable. I don't feel stable at all. I feel as if I'm barely holding myself together.
“Please,” I whimper, with tears streaming down my face as I squeeze Mum's hand tighter than ever. “Just wake up.”
I wait, but nothing happens. I guess, instead of begging like this, I should do what the nurse said. I should talk about my day.
“So we've got this big ad contract right now,” I say finally, as I wipe tears from my cheeks and try to smile. I'm still stroking her hand. “It's, uh, all going crazy at the moment. It's a real high-pressure situation, but that's kind of fun. I like hard work. So anyway, now we -”
***
As rain crashes down against the roof of the bus stop, I look up at the display board and see that the buses back to Hammersmith are suddenly all delayed. I guess something must have blocked the road, which means I'm basically stuck here unless I want to try running to the tube station. In this weather, however, I'd be drenched before I even got to the end of the street. Forget drowning (melodramatically) in hope; I'd probably drown in the rain.
“Great,” I mutter, sitting down on the bench and resolving to just wait the delay out.
Checking my watch, I see that it's almost 8pm. I try to figure out how much time I'll need for my work once I get back to my flat, but I'm pretty sure I'll end up pulling an all-nighter.
That's okay.
I've pulled all-nighters before.
In fact, there's something kind of invigorating about them. Exhausting, but invigorating.
And any time I even begin to feel sorry for myself, I try to remember what my life was like when I lived on the streets. There are people whose situations are way, way worse than mine.
I'm so lucky.
Reaching into my bag, I take out some of the notes I made earl
ier. I figure I might as well use this time productively, so I start looking through the pages, familiarizing myself with some of the ideas that we need to incorporate into the ad campaign's next stage. I'm shivering slightly from the cold, and a moment later I glance up and see that the buses are still delayed. Still, I know I can -
Suddenly a horn beeps, and I look to the right just in time to see a car flashing past. I think someone waved at me, but I guess that can't be true. I look around and – although I don't see anyone else – I figure that there must have been someone nearby a moment ago. After all, I don't know anyone in this part of London, and the odds of someone driving past and recognizing me must be minuscule.
I look back down at the notes, but my mind is already wandering. I try for several minutes to stay focused, but somehow I just can't force my mind to stay on track.
Finally, closing my eyes, I try to think of something – anything – that isn't Mum's face at the hospital. For a moment the constant hiss of torrential rain starts lulling me into a daze, and I start to worry that I might be about to have another flashback to the last night at Cathmore Road. No flashback comes, however, and I sit for several minutes in a kind of strange trance.
And then, just as I start drifting off into a light sleep, something jerks me awake and I sit up straight. A fraction of a second later I feel a brief burst of pain in the back of my head, accompanied by a rough sensation in my throat. I almost drop the notes, but at the last moment I manage to keep hold of them all.
Startled, I look around, but all I see is the dark street with lights blurring in the rain. I still feel as if there's something close, something I'm supposed to notice, but for a moment the lights are too overwhelming. I turn to look the other way, then along the street again, and increasingly I feel as if there's something very important coming this way. At the same time, I've got a strange taste in my mouth, almost as if I can taste peaches.
That's weird.
I can't remember the last time I ate a peach, so why would I be able to taste them now?
Or did I taste them the other day?
For a moment, I feel a little lost in my own half-memories.
Another car races past, splashing water toward me from a puddle. My feet are instantly soaked, but I don't even bother to look down. All that matters is watching the dark patches between the rainy lights, waiting to see a hint of movement. There's something in the night air, something coming along the street, and finally I get to my feet. I don't even know why, but for some reason I step away from the bus shelter until I'm out in the pouring rain. I'm quickly soaked, but I simply watch the other side of the street and wait as a shape finally becomes visible.
Somebody's walking past.
I watch the figure, squinting slightly to get a better look.
The person is carrying an umbrella, hiding from the rain, but as she passes beneath a street-light I see a pair of red high heels. Those shoes seem strangely familiar, so I continue to watch the figure until she walks past another light, at which point I get a brief glance at the side of her face. In that instant, I realize that somehow – improbably – I've spotted Abbie. I had no idea she lived in this neck of the woods, but I guess she must be heading home. Either that, or she's on her way to meet someone.
Pain ripples in the back of my head for a moment, but I ignore the sensation and step out into the road. Not even looking to make sure that no cars are coming, I hurry over to the far pavement and then set off after Abbie, taking care to not get too close. I don't want her to see me, but I definitely want to know where she's going so late on a rainy evening. And as she takes a turn down an alley, I feel a flicker of excitement that I can't really explain.
I head down the pitch-black alley after her, and now I'm speeding up, almost as if I want to catch up to her. The closer I get, the more I feel a scratching sensation in the back of my throat, and the more my mouth is filled with the taste of peaches.
And somehow, I feel like I'm not even in charge of my body anymore.
Chapter Five
Maddie
“Come on, you asshole, answer the bloody phone!”
Abbie's outside a block of flats now, and I can just about make out her breath vapor against the brightly-lit building. She's been pacing around for a good half hour now, trying over and over to call someone. She seems angry, annoyed even, and I'm pretty sure she's wearing a skimpy little black dress under her coat. She's dressed for an evening out, although I can't imagine that her plans included loitering outside in the dark like this, swearing and cursing into the night air.
Unfortunately for her, some guy named Jimmy apparently won't answer when she tries to ring him.
At least the rain has stopped, although everywhere is soaking wet.
Sighing, Abbie cuts the call and stops to take a drag from her cigarette. She starts wandering this way, but there's no way she'll catch sight of me. After all, I've managed to hide myself away in a shadowy gap between two large recycling containers. I can see her perfectly, but she could come to within a few feet of me and she still wouldn't notice that I'm here. Besides, I'm crouched down too, which gives me an extra level of cover.
I can stay here all night if I want, just watching her.
Waiting.
I'm also dribbling slightly, thanks to the taste of peaches. For some reason I seem to be producing extra saliva. Maybe that's got something to do with the weird dryness at the back of my throat. It's almost as if I've swallowed a bunch of twigs, and I'm a little worried that I might start coughing at any moment. Now that would attract Abbie's attention, and I really don't want to have to explain what I'm doing here. I mean, she'd probably think I'm being a little weird.
Wait, what am I doing here?
I was at work earlier, getting on with a client's project, and then...
And then...
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to think back. I think maybe someone came to the office to see me.
Matt?
No, it can't have been Matt.
I must be imagining things again. Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm, but now I have this vague memory of seeing Mum's face.
Did I go to the psychiatric hospital and visit her?
Did I get caught in a rainstorm at a bus stop?
“You don't have to explain yourself,” a woman's voice says suddenly, drifting through my memories. “I'm sure you come as often as you can. But while you're here, you should spend time with her. Go on, sit with her for a while.”
Then I hear my own voice: “Do you think she can hear me?”
“I think it's possible,” the woman continues. She sounds a little like one of the nurses on Mum's ward. “It's definitely worth a try. Would you like me to bring you some tea or coffee?”
That didn't happen.
Or did it?
Was I at the hospital tonight?
No, I can't have been. I'd remember, and it'd be a clearer, more distinct memory. After all, I'm not crazy. But why is it so difficult to remember? Why am I -
“Hey Jimmy,” Abbie says suddenly, and I open my eyes to see that she's on the phone again. Silhouetted against the building's lights, she takes a quick puff from her cigarette. “So I've been waiting here for far too long, and now I'm going home. Your loss. When you get this message, do me a favor and just delete my number, okay? Believe me, out of the two of us, you're the one who would've have fun tonight. You're the one who's missing out on a world of pleasure. Anyway, adios you dumb idiot.”
With that, she cuts the call and takes another drag on her cigarette, before tossing the stub aside and starting to walk away. I peer around the side of the recycling container, craning my neck to watch as she wanders back toward the dark alley, and I realize after a moment that I can't risk letting her slip away into the night. In fact, a rush of panic fills my chest as I realize that I could lose track of her, so I instinctively stumble to my feet and set off toward the alley. I know I should be quiet, but I can't help myself and a moment later I see Abbie
stopping ahead and turning. I try to look away, but I'm too late and we make eye contact.
There's a brief pause as we stare at each other. For a few seconds, she almost seems not to recognize me, but then she furrows her brow. Even then, it takes another couple of seconds before she seems to actually realize that I'm here. It's almost as if she thinks she's imagining me.
“Maddie?” she says cautiously. “Maddie, is that... Is that you?”
I briefly consider turning and running, but something keeps me here.
“Hi,” I say finally, taking a step forward. “I was just... coming this way.”
“Seriously?” She looks around, as if she half expects to be caught on camera for some prank show, and then she smiles as she turns back to me. “Well that's got to be one of the coincidences of the year, right? What the hell are you doing out and about so late? I thought you never...”
Her voice trails off for a moment.
“Well, you know what I mean,” she adds. “No offense, but I got the impression you weren't much of a night owl.”
“I'm not,” I reply. “I just... I just had to fetch some things.”
“You live in Hammersmith, don't you?”
I nod.
“I was in the Swan the other day,” she says. “You know the pub, opposite Hammersmith station?”
I nod again.
“I should've texted you,” she continues. “Honestly, I just thought you kind of went home every day after work and stayed indoors. I had no idea you were...”
Again, her voice trails off, and then suddenly she does something I never expected.
She steps toward me, smiling, and gives me a hug.
I stay completely still, trying to work out how to react, but I'm not quick enough. By the time it's occurred to me that I should hug her back, she's already stepping away.
“This is just so completely amazing!” she laughs. “Of all the people I could've met tonight, you're the absolute last I ever would have guessed! It has to be a sign, Maddie!” She grabs my arm, holding me tight. “Okay, I think we have to take the hint. Let's go and get a drink. Let's go and get a load of drinks! After the evening I've had so far, I need gin and I need a lot of it. I know this great place with two-for-one offers. What do you reckon?”
