by Sara Barnard
“Suze—”
“But I couldn’t not come, I had to say sorry, because it’s all my fault, I ruin everything.”
At this I gave up trying to break into her frantic monologue and reached out my uninjured arm, curving it toward me in a hug gesture. Suzanne hesitated for just a moment and then bolted around the bed. At first she half crouched, half leaned into the hug, but it was so awkward she eventually sat her full weight on the bed, and then climbed on completely.
It occurred to me as she curled herself carefully between me and the edge of the bed, her limbs a tangle above the covers and mine stretched out clinically straight, that Rosie and I weren’t really huggers. Even when we were very young we hadn’t been the type of twosome who shared changing rooms at the swimming pool or beds at sleepovers. I wasn’t sure which one of us had the greatest influence on this facet of our friendship, but I did know that Rosie would never have even thought to climb up onto my hospital bed beside me.
“You don’t ruin everything,” I said inadequately.
“Are you basing that on the evidence, or . . . ?”
“I think you’ve just been unlucky.” I injected as much cheer and positivity into my voice as possible, hamming it up to show just how okay it was. “The only way is up. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“It’s always darkest before dawn?” At last I heard a smile in her voice.
“Things are never as bad as they seem.” I tried to think of some more. “Uh, que sera, sera.”
There was a pause and then, at exactly the same time, we both said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” And then we both cracked up.
“Shhh,” Suzanne said through giggles. “I’m not supposed to be here, remember?”
“Oh yeah, what are you doing here? How did you get in? And what time is it?”
“Nearly midnight. I had to wait until Sarah went to sleep.”
My heart sank, the laughter gone suddenly. “Suze. Really?”
“I told you, I needed to see you,” she said, and even though her voice was calm there was defensiveness there. “I haven’t told you about today yet. You’ll get why when I’m done.”
“So you sneaked out of your house—again—and then sneaked into a hospital?”
“It wasn’t hard,” she said dismissively. “That kind of thing is always so much easier than people think.”
“Didn’t anyone see you?”
“Sure they did.”
I waited a moment, but she didn’t elaborate. She sat up and slid off the bed, easing herself into the chair that was there, wincing. “I banged my leg climbing over the garden wall.”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Only you could say something like that like it’s completely normal. And did I mention that my leg is broken?”
Suzanne’s face crumpled and I felt a surge of guilt. I’d meant to tease, but the veneer of I’m-fine-I’m-so-very-fine that she wore was just that, a veneer. In the instant after I spoke I saw her real emotional state flash across her face. She looked broken. Broken in a way that frightened me.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “That was meant to be a joke.”
“I know.” She looked away from me, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Sorry. I’m kind of . . . off balance right now.”
I waited until she’d gathered herself before speaking again. “So what happened today, on your end?”
“Nothing good. You should have seen Sarah’s face when she opened the door to me and the police—the way she looked at me. It was horrible. And the police kept talking and talking, it was unbearable, they were just delaying the inevitable, you know? I didn’t go to school, Rosie probably told you that. Sarah didn’t go to work. The thing is, she didn’t yell. She cried though. And that was worse.” She wiped her eyes again. “What about you? Is everything okay with you, except the leg?”
“And the face?”
“Well, yeah, that too.”
“The leg is pretty bad apparently. And they were worried about my concussion for a while. But they all seem to have calmed down now. I’ll probably be out in a few days.”
“That’s good.” Finally she smiled a proper smile. “I’m so relieved. All day I kept imagining the worst. Sarah said something about you maybe being paralyzed, and oh, God, can you imagine?”
Watching her babble away, I felt the slow creep of anxiety starting in my stomach. Something was wrong. There was something she wasn’t telling me. There had to be a reason why, after everything, she’d sneaked into my hospital room at midnight to talk to me.
“Why are you here, Suze?” I asked.
She picked at a thread on her hoodie sleeve, avoiding my eyes. In the silence, my anxiety grew.
“I came to say good-bye,” she said eventually.
The anxiety, already at my chest, seized. “What do you mean?”
“They’re sending me away. Well, Sarah is—Sarah and social services. I’m being put into foster care.” She was still not looking at me.
“No.”
“There wasn’t even a question. Sarah said it straight after the police left. She didn’t say it in a mean way, she just said it. Like there was no other option. She said this was the final straw. Actually she said a whole bunch of stuff that was horrible, but true.”
“But she’ll calm down.”
“Not this time, no. She’s already spoken to Becca.” Seeing my face, she added, “My social worker, remember? So I guess she’ll get it sorted out. Sarah tried to . . .” Still not looking at me, Suzanne seemed to choke on the words, then gather herself. “She tried to get them to take me away straightaway. But they can’t do it that way, apparently.”
“What does it mean?” I asked. “Where will you go?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “God, I don’t know. I don’t know how the fuck this works. Probably some kind of group home?” Her voice wavered. “You know, with all the other unloved fuckups.”
“Oh, Suze . . .” I ached with worry and sympathy. “Look, maybe if you explain—”
“Explain what?” She looked at me now. “What is there to explain? She tried. She tried really, really hard. But I’m just . . . What was it she said? I’m beyond help. I just cause pain for other people, and she’s had enough of having to be responsible for my destructive behavior. That’s a direct quote, by the way.”
“But . . . foster care? Will that help?”
“Of course not. But it won’t be her problem. I won’t be her problem.” She studied her sleeves, bunched into her fists. “Part of me wonders if I’d have been better off if she’d just never got involved.”
“You mean staying with your parents?”
“Yeah.”
“But they were hurting you. You could have died.”
“Maybe that would have been better.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Suzanne let out a long sigh then, straightening her shoulders and tilting her head back. She closed her eyes for what felt like too long, then opened them again, smiling determinedly at me. “Anyway. I brought you something.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a necklace, which she held out to me.
When I took it, I realized what it was.
“Oh no, I can’t have this.” I tried to push it back into her hands, but she held them clenched against her chest. “It’s yours.”
“I want you to have it,” she said simply. “To say thank you.”
“Thank you for what?” I looked at the necklace closely, the delicate chain, the curve of the dove. It was even prettier up close.
“You know for what.” Her lips curved into a soft, sad smile. “I think you’re the best friend I ever had.”
“I won’t tell Rosie you said that,” I said, trying to keep my voice light, because it felt like I was about to start crying.
“No, do. Tell her she was brilliant too. And tell her I’m sorry. I probably won’t see her again. Before I go, I mean.”
“Do you know when that will be?”
She looked away from me. “Oh, a couple of days, maybe?”
“Maybe you could come and stay with me,” I suggested, a little desperately.
Suzanne laughed out loud. “Oh, I’m sure your parents would just love that.” She let out another sigh, but she was smiling this time. “Face it, Cads, I’m a certified lost cause. A walking, talking fuckup.” Her voice was light, in line with her smile, but I noticed that her hand, which she’d raised to wipe her face, was shaking slightly.
“You’re not,” I said.
“I really am though.”
Before I could protest again, she looked over at the clock and made a face. “I should probably go.”
“Why don’t you stay until it gets light?” I suggested. “You shouldn’t walk all the way back to your house in the dark by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said dismissively. “You should be resting anyway; I’ve kept you awake long enough.”
“If you go by yourself I’ll be too worried to go to sleep anyway,” I countered.
She looked at me then with an expression that was impossible to read. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or sad, if she was annoyed by my statement or pleased.
“Okay,” she said finally, “but only if you promise that I won’t keep you awake. You’ll sleep, right?”
“I’m barely staying awake as it is,” I said, blinking.
She smiled a little. “Okay. I’ll stay till it’s light.”
As lies went, it was a kind one.
27
THE NEXT TIME I WOKE up, it was abrupt. My subconscious jolted me awake so suddenly I was disorientated for several moments, trying to take in my surroundings and simultaneously work out what had woken me. The two realizations stuck me at the same time, and I sat bolt upright in bed, causing a spasm of pure agony to ricochet around my body and a yelp of pain to escape.
The first realization was that Suzanne was gone, even though it was very much still dark. The second was that I had remembered something in my dream, something so frightening it had forced me out of sleep.
The memory was of Suzanne, weeks earlier, rolling an unlit cigarette around in her fingers. I’d rather die than go into foster care.
On the back of this memory, in my newly hyperalert awake state, snippets of our midnight conversation came into sharp focus.
I came to say good-bye.
Maybe that would have been better.
She says I’m beyond help.
And then, the final clue I’d been too dense to notice: the necklace currently resting on my bedside table. Her favorite thing. Her prized possession. She had given it to me.
A sweep of panic rushed through me, causing my ears and fingertips to burn. The panic felt solid, like something had taken hold of me and shaken me. For a moment I was paralyzed by it.
Dad, I thought. I’d get Dad to come, and he’d go and find her, and everything would be fine. I reached out toward the button by my bed, then paused. What would actually happen if I pressed it? A nurse would come, and then what would I say? My in-disgrace friend who was sort-of responsible for my current state had sneaked into the hospital to give me a necklace and now I thought she was going to kill herself? Wouldn’t that sound stupid? What were the chances of the nurse actually getting my father?
So I’d have to go and find him myself. I looked around the dark room, my eyes settling on the outline of the wheelchair maybe two meters away. I pulled back the covers and looked at my leg. How bad could it be, really? It was still in the basic leg shape, even if the bones weren’t as securely attached anymore. The cast seemed like it would at least hold it together.
I hesitated, then swung my legs slowly, slowly around the side of the bed. The broken one stuck out comically straight in front of me, the other already bending to the floor as if in expectation. Bracing myself, I put all my weight on my uninjured arm and lowered myself down.
Even though my arm and my left leg were taking most of my weight, an instant shock of pain swept through me as soon as my feet touched the floor. When had I had my last dose of painkillers? What if I passed out before I made it to the wheelchair? I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering myself, then lifted myself completely off the bed.
It wasn’t far, but making it across that room was the most painful thing I’d ever done in my life. My leg felt like a dead weight of pain dragging along behind me. I was almost at the wheelchair, tears streaming down my face, when my working leg buckled and I collapsed onto the floor. I crushed my hand across my mouth to stop myself crying out, waited a few seconds for the panic of intense pain to leave my body, then pulled myself up into the chair.
I rolled myself out of the room and into the empty hall, my heart cantering, hoping I’d find an elevator close by. When I found one around the first corner, I pushed the right button, rested my head against the wall and cried all the way down to ER.
When the doors opened on the ground floor, two doctors were standing there, presumably waiting for the lift.
“Oh,” the male one said, looking stunned. I saw his eyes move to the space behind me, as if expecting someone to materialize there and explain my presence.
“I’m looking for Dr. Oliver,” I tried to say, but my throat was tight with pain and fear and the result was barely comprehensible.
“Dr. Oliver?” the other doctor said slowly, her eyes moving from my leg to my arm to my face. “Are you on the right floor?”
The doors started to close, and I shot my hand out to keep them open. I stumbled slightly out of the wheelchair, put too much weight on my bad leg and let out an involuntary howl of pain. The eyes of the two doctors went wide, and they both reached out automatically to grab my arms.
“He’s my dad,” I started to say, just as the unmistakable broad figure of my father appeared at the other end of the corridor. He wasn’t looking at us, and was talking animatedly with the nurse beside him, gesturing to the chart he was holding. “Dad!” I yelled.
His head jolted up, and he looked around with the confused expression of someone hearing a familiar noise completely out of context. Then he saw me, and a look of shock overwhelmed his features. Shoving the chart at the nurse, he almost ran toward me, covering the corridor’s length in seconds. “Cadnam,” he half shouted, half gasped.
When he got closer, I realized his expression was almost panicked. He reached for me, his fingers gripping into my shoulders. “What is she doing here?” His voice was raised almost to a yell, and it was full of an anger I’d never heard before. He was directing the question at the poor doctors who’d been holding on to me.
“We were just waiting for the elevator and she appeared,” the woman said, her voice steady and calm.
Dad looked down at me and gave my shoulders a shake. “What are you doing out of bed, Cadnam?”
“I need to talk to you,” I said. His panic was catching, and my voice sounded pitched and breathless. “It’s really important.” The words were so inadequate. I sounded like a schoolchild out of her depth.
“Tell me—what’s wrong? What’s happened?” His eyes were darting all over my face. He still looked half terrified. “Did something happen?”
“No, it’s not me.” I could feel tears at the back of my throat again. My desperation was building because I knew what would happen as soon as I mentioned Suzanne’s name. I had to make him listen to me, and when had that ever worked? “It’s . . . it’s Suzanne.”
The effect was immediate. His panicky expression vanished, his grip loosened. He let out a frustrated sigh and actually rolled his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” Another loud exhalation. “Jesus, Cadnam, I thought something had happened. You frightened the life out of me.”
“No.” I tried to make my voice firm. “No, Dad. It’s not like that. You have to listen to me. I think she’s—”
“Whatever it is, we can talk about it in the morning,” Dad said briskly. “Right now it’s important that you get your rest. Claudia, would you please take my daughter back to her room?”
“No,” I said again. “No, you have to listen. I think—” My voice caught. “I think she might hurt herself.”
Dad set his jaw, closing his eyes briefly. “Cadnam. You need to calm down and go to bed.” Had he even heard me?
The female doctor was watching me closely. “Who’s Suzanne?” she asked.
“She’s a troublemaker,” Dad said, before I could even open my mouth. “She’s the reason Caddy is here at all.”
“And why do you think she might hurt herself?” The woman directed the question at me. Her voice was gentle.
“She came to visit me tonight, said she wanted to say sorry. And she said she was being taken into care, but she said once before, ages ago, that she’d rather die than go into foster care.” I said all of this in a torrent, trying to get it all out before Dad could interrupt me again. “And she said stuff like she’s beyond help, and—and!—that she’d come to say good-bye. And she gave me her necklace, which is like her favorite thing—she never takes it off.” At some point during my rambling I’d reached out and grabbed hold of the woman’s sleeve. I only realized when I’d finally stopped speaking, and I let go, embarrassed even in my panic.
There was a silence. Had I been convincing enough? “Daddy,” I heard myself say. “Please.” Tears were coursing down my face. The image of Suzanne handing me the necklace was looping in my head. “It doesn’t matter what you think of her.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Do you have a telephone number for Sarah?” he asked me finally.
“No,” I said. My voice was starting to shake. “I don’t have my mobile, remember?”
“When did Suzanne leave here?”
“I don’t know. I fell asleep. She told me she’d stay until it got light. When I woke up and it was dark and she was gone, that’s when I realized. I should have got it earlier”—a sob escaped—“but I didn’t . . .”
