‘Phew, I’m okay.’
I smile around me, wondering at the crowd of people. Some of them are standing there looking at me with their arms folded or hugging someone next to them. I spy Amber and smile knowingly at her. She’s leaning into Andrea, whose arms wind round her protectively. Looks like she’s not an outsider anymore, I think.
Sunlight drifts into the room pushing away the shadows, and I feel a sense of peace rush through me. I can even see the rest of the gathering group; Seth, Nettles, Claudine and Caro. They clump together talking so softly; I wish I knew what they were talking about. Nettles lifts her head to look at me before returning to the huddle; even underneath her shaking curls, I can tell her mood is foul.
She’s shaking her head, and pointing in my direction. Maybe it’s because of the other night, when I walked out, but that was weeks ago. I smile and wave, and wonder where Hawk is. Then I remember and feel hurt that he’s not even bothered to show up. The group look different from Jo-Jo, or maybe it’s my eyes, but they keep flickering, and then fading, reminding me of a light bulb that doesn’t have enough power. I wonder if they’re really here at all, maybe they’re trancing. I push the thought away, praying they’re not, it makes me feel alone, and I don’t like it, I think, looking at the corners of the room.
You’re not alone. The female voice is soft and familiar.
I’m not? I feel confused.
Where’s Hawk? I look for the voice. Everyone is the same as they were, there’s no-one new in the room. Was someone talking to me in my head or outside? When no-one speaks again, I put it down to the accident, feeling my head, it doesn’t hurt. I must have been hit quite hard.
So who are you? It’s difficult to concentrate.
Part of you, have been since the beginning - remember your earth dreams?
The voice answers quickly and I feel myself jolt. Broken images of marble rush at me, of gold bowls with intricate designs. In the vast hallway, there’s something else, someone else and I groan, wishing that I could remember, but the memory feels buried.
But those were dreams, dreams are not reality, this is reality, and I take a deep breath to settle myself. I look round the room again, everything seems brighter, clearer somehow, and the shadowy things that frighten me have disappeared. I raise both hands and look at them, wiggling my fingers then my toes. If I was dreaming, – could I do this? I slump back wondering at the voice, and what my subconscious, means by the beginning – what beginning?
Hey, did you hear me? What beginning?
I tap my fingers on the bed, closing my eyes in irritation. What am I expecting? A fairy godmother?
Immediately I hear the swooshing sound of soft silk against my skin followed by a light touch on my forehead. I close my eyes, feeling myself sink into a deep sleep, and I wonder if the nurse has given me something. A hand rubs my temple, and I sigh. It feels so comforting, almost maternal, as I’m cradled. Somewhere my mind screams reminding me that I’m in the hospital. I push my eyelids apart even though they feel as if they are shut with concrete. I need to see who is holding me. Irritation prickles my skin as I try to focus; everything seems so blurry, like pale sparkly puzzle parts. As if sensing my frustration it moves further away until my brain catches up, and puts it altogether. I gasp in recognition at the most beautiful face I have ever seen. She seems familiar, and I think of the woman that has jumped. The image of the ravine pushes its way to the surface of my memories first, and I wonder if this is before she leaped from the ravine. I can’t stop staring at her skin which glistens like porcelain, but it is the green smiling eyes that hold me. There’s a sigh, and I watch her face move closer before feeling a tender kiss on my nose. Her long blonde hair feels silky as it caresses my cheek and I try to catch it, but it slips through my fingers. Someone giggles then, and I have never felt so content. I reach out dimly aware of the pudgy fingers that have replaced my own. They hover over her face and I watch her briefly close her eyes to my touch. Her skin feels soft and wet from tears and I frown as she pulls away. Fear, and the sudden loss of contact makes my skin come out with goose bumps and I cry then, an alien cry in comparison to my own, shrieking so loudly that I startle myself. I gulp down large breaths before trying to speak but I can’t, and I’m filled with the horror of separation. Eventually there are not even puzzle parts left, just the looming shape of a tall tree, its branches rustling as I scream again. I can see the flower bracelets dangling from my arms as they flail desperately for her. Through the canopy of leaves, darkening clouds seem to echo my mood, and I feel my eyelids close. She is gone, and I’m alone.
10
Dead
SUNDAY
I stare wildly around me, before realising that I’m still in the bright light of the hospital room. There are no swaying branches, only stark white blinds and the beeping of a heart machine. I fall back against the pillow in relief, the anxiety slowly seeping away, replaced with questions. I close my eyes again, asking her.
Did you do that?
Was that you?
Was that me?
A deep disappointment fills me when I hear nothing, although I can smell a perfumed fragrance, but that could have been from anyone. Maybe it’s the unconscious me? She had said that she was part of me. Perhaps I’m just remembering the flowers round my wrists, or being found in a basket. The knock on my head must have opened up a memory of my true mother – but how can it be if she jumped? I breathe deeply, keeping my eyes closed, trying to remember the silky hair that framed the soft face and the green eyes. I instinctively reached for my own, twirling it and wonder if hers changed with the seasons. It must have been summer when she left me, sixteen years ago, in a forest. But left for whom? A bitter, metallic taste fills my mouth – why would anyone leave a child in a forest? It doesn’t make sense. I don’t remember being told about who found me, and took me to the adoption agency. For the first time in my life, I have questions, real questions and need real answers from real people. The pain of the memory feels so raw and real and I try rubbing it away, flinching when I realise that everyone is still looking at me. How long have I been asleep? It can’t have been long – they are still standing in the same place. It feels so weird, as if time has stood still. Amber is still in Andrea’s arms. Mum and Dad are still sitting in the same place next to me. Mum’s head leaning on Dad’s shoulder. I notice that Hawk has still not bothered to turn up, just like earlier. I must have seriously upset him, he seemed so certain that I was special. That I was as special as the next person, although I might be a little crazy at the moment, but I’m allowed to be - which teenager in my shoes wouldn’t be?
Ha, now you know the truth, Hawk...you might be weird, but I’m just plain crazy.
I grin at Amber then, she’s whispering something in Andrea’s ear. The nurses and doctors are still hovering around as she smiles back. Although, I can’t be certain if the smile is directed at the nurse.
I glance outside, slivers of sunlight spill through the blinds into the room. It’s so different from last night’s storm.
The doctor and nurse are moving around me, and I’m almost pleased when the group moves further back. If they’re not even going to talk to me, I want them to go, I think miserably.
That’s when I spy Jo-Jo. She must have been standing behind my parents earlier, and she’s crying, this was different. Josh is with her, his arms holding her tightly as she presses her head into his arms. I watch as he strokes her blonde hair and feel the familiar feelings of hurt, at being pushed to the outside. I look away, I don’t like the way he is staring at me, it feels wrong somehow. Anyway, I have Hawk now. I fume then, she doesn’t have to be so damn dramatic. It’s not as if I’m dead. Even though I think it, the thought feels like a heavy echo and bounces round the room.
Dead…dead…dead…dead.
11
Flutters
MONDAY
I look anxiously at the doctor now. He’s listening to my breathing. I can’t feel the coldn
ess of the stethoscope and wonder if he’s warmed it up like they used to when I was little.
‘Am I ok?’ I ask, but he doesn’t answer.
Idiot, he has the stethoscope in his ears, I tell myself.
He has the face of a stranger, and as his eyebrows knit together in concentration, I find myself hoping that he knows enough. I wish my old doctor was here. Why haven’t they called Doctor King? He’s been the family doctor since I was born.
‘Mum?’
I turn to her quizzically. She’s a little further down the bed now, hidden, and I peer at her from under his arm. Dark tangles have fallen loose from her tied hair, and I know she did it in a hurry. Although it’s not her hair that makes me stare at her but the look of worry that lines her face. She looks much older today.
I can just make out Dad’s hand on her shoulder and feel a flush of guilt that I’ve even put them through this. Dad lost his job recently, and I know they have money problems because I’ve heard them. They haven’t figured out that my bedroom is over the dining room and even though Mum’s been doing extra shifts at the hospital it’s not helping. I worry about them even though I know that if I said anything, it would make things worse. I think about our coffee and window shopping and wish more than anything to be doing that now.
Sorry Mum. I don’t want to say it out loud, remind her, it will only make her feel worse. This is one thing they could do without, and even though her head is now bent away from me, I know that she’s tearful. I groan,
Mum is always tearful lately, Dad called it ‘baby blues,’ but I’m awake now - so why is everyone so worried?
‘Hey, I’m ok guys, really…’
I call to them before looking back up at the doctor. What’s he doing now? I want to scream. I hate injections, always have, and he’s using one on me now. I breathe a sigh of relief. This guy is good, I didn’t feel a thing. In fact, I feel great, really great, like I can do anything. As the pale light hits my face, I’m reminded of Hussein, and the white Ford and hope he knows that I’m okay too. For some reason, it feels important. I don’t know whether it’s the drugs but when I look around the room and wonder where he is - I see him inside the police station. He’s wearing his worn out denim jacket and the grey trousers he irons so carefully every morning.
They’re ripped, but he’s not thinking of them now, his greying head is in his hands, and he’s weeping.
‘Nevaeh, No!’ A voice roars at me. Is that you Hawk?
I look back at Hussein curiously and dismiss the voice as his. He has enough on his plate, and it’s not his fault, I want to scream. It’s mine; I stepped into the road in front of him. I wonder why he’s at the station. It’s busy here with people bumping into each other or queuing at the desk.
Did they all just look at me?
They give me the creeps. Anyway, nothing ever happens in Tidwell, one road in and out.
Hussein is trying to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand. Have my parents brought charges against him? I hope not, I must tell them that it’s not his fault, it’s an accident.
Orhan, his son, appears at his side and gently rubs his father’s back. He’s talking quietly in Turkish telling his father not to worry, he spoke to the hospital, and she’s okay, I guess that means me. A feeling of relief seems to wash over both of us as he reaches for his son’s hand.
I knew I was okay.
When Orhan goes back to the desk to fill out the paperwork because his English is so much better than his Dad’s, I sit next to him. He’s taken out his wallet, and inside the clear plastic is a photo of his wife. She’s pretty with large eyes as dark as coal and a wide smile. Maybe now he can go back to his home and wife. She has no idea what’s happened. Orhan, her step-son told her that his father is working an extra shift and his mobile battery is dead. I sense something else, she’s pregnant, and I know it’s a girl with dark hair, and rosy plump cheeks. When she giggles, everyone will laugh at her. They are going to call her Rosita; she will be his little rose. Of course, I’m biased, that’s my Mum’s middle name. I want to show Hussein his daughter - she’s a little far off at the moment, waiting to wake up. Her laugh is infectious, and I laugh with her.
‘Look, Hussein, she’s right there.’
I touch his back briefly and feel an electric shock before quickly pulling it away. I hope I don’t electrocute him. I get a sense that my touch can help or hurt him. Hussein is thinking about his wife and baby, and now the image of her laughing is in his head. I feel like doing cartwheels, even if this is a drugged dream.
Then, I can tell, he remembers me and the sadness returns, making the room feel dense. I look at my hand and hesitate before placing it back on his shoulder.
The electric shock triggers something in my body. The light is as thick and fluid as water and it seeps from my hands.
That’s enough, pull it back. This time the voice breathes on me like a cold wind and I shiver. I pull my hand back. Who is that? Hussein’s not talking; his swollen eyelids are flickering wildly. Maybe I have electrocuted him. I worry and sit hunched in front of him, hoping the sadness has gone. I think he sees me. His face is replaced with wonder and I smile as he puts his hands in my direction. His hand is millimetres from my face when a similar sound to the singing bowl screeches through making me cover my ears. I’m being pulled back, and even though I fight it, it’s too strong.
I’m back in bed exhausted, and look around at the now familiar room. Hussein is gone, and despair washes over me. I hold my hands up curiously.
Head rush, huh?
The voice seems casual, but I can sense worry a mile off. I freeze automatically closing my eyes like I did when I was little before opening them a crack. I can’t see him, but I know it is Hawk.
‘Are you doing that mind thing again?’ I whisper, wondering how he got inside my dream. He ignores me.
‘Wrong, it’s no dream…why do you think I’ve been calling you?’ There is an edge to his voice.
‘Wha’?’
Hawk is standing at the end of my bed, and for some reason, I feel like giggling with relief that he’s here, even though it’s hard to keep up with the different looks. I sigh heavily; this guy is difficult to read. Maybe he only came here because of guilt. An image of everyone blaming him for my accident makes me flush with guilt. I think of the mind reading and look at him carefully. If he’s read my mind, he’s not showing it. He is dressed differently too, all in white. That’s when I realise I don’t even know where he works, or is he at college?
If this is his day job, did he work at the hospital? I wait for him to say something.
‘Speak will you.’
He rubs his hand on the back of his neck before grimacing. I remember the last time he did that, and feel worry edge its way back up.
‘This is my fault. If only I hadn’t ignored you like that. I had to be on my own, to connect. I just had such a weird feeling and needed to check. Damn! It seemed to take forever to reach you; I can only just hear you. You’ve got to understand this has never been done before. I’m so sorry Nevaeh.’ I listen to him ramble, wide eyed. He looks genuinely upset, even though I have no idea what he is talking about. I sit up.
‘Hawk, look…it’s okay, I’m okay…’
But he isn’t actually listening, instead, muttering something about not doing his job properly. It’s my turn to listen properly.
Job? I was just a job?
I hear him sigh as he places both hands on the end of the bed. I wish he’d come closer. Doesn’t he know how upset I’ve been, how alone? I’ve had an accident, not a disease.
‘You were never a job, Nevaeh; please tell me, you know that. You’re so much more to me. It’s just, I wish we spent more time talking instead of…’ he half smiles and I feel myself blush furiously.
‘I don’t.’
I have never been so attracted to him as I was right now and hold my arms out to him, but he seems cautious.
‘What’s wrong?�
��
‘Nevaeh, I have to tell you something.’ He looks nervous biting his lip. This is a new trait, and I hope it’s not to do with me being special again. Don’t you know I’m only special when I’m with you?
‘Please don’t, not again.’ I blurt.
‘Look, I don’t want to be funny, but I’m not really into any of that mystical stuff. I mean, I enjoy trancing with you, but that’s because it’s with you. I meditate all the time, Hawk, but the group, candles, chanting'. I shake my head ignoring the tense look he’s giving me. I hold my hands out to stop him, it’s my turn.
‘Hawk, I’m not special, I’m just me. Me, whose had an accident, and to be honest is not in the mood to hear about Nirvana again.
Hawk looks as if he has been physically hit. His eyes narrow.
‘What did you say?’
I realise this is going to be more difficult than I thought.
‘C’mon Hawk, you know what I mean. I don’t really believe in all that stuff, y’know? It’s okay for some people but…’
‘Not that, the other part, the Nirvana part.’
I look at him confused and wonder if he’s also bumped his head.
‘Nirvana…you said Nirvana! What do you know about that place?’
I shrug my shoulders. If I had, I can’t remember. Maybe I bumped my head harder than I thought. Hawk stands there staring at me like I’m insane. He also looks like he is trying to make a decision. I look guiltily at my parents half expecting one of them to ask who this guy is. But they seem oblivious to what is going on. I frown. In fact, I don’t even remember my parents asking me how I am.
Mum had asked me to wake up. I remember that now but since then – nothing. They changed positions a few times. Now Dad is reading a magazine and Mum is staring out of the window. That’s when I actually realise that no-one else is in the room. Jo-Jo had obviously gone off with Josh when I fell asleep. Hawk seems to be taking all of this in and raises one eyebrow at me. Now I’m irritated.
Heaven's Children (Earth Totem) Page 6
