With the utmost struggle, Bea opened her eyes. The light was blinding and for a moment she couldn’t really see anything. Then she started making out the figures surrounding her, two men in white coats and a woman wearing a tweed jacket.
‘Hello, darling,’ the woman said. ‘How are you feeling?’
With effort, she opened her mouth. ‘Sebastian?’ Her voice sounded croaky and she wasn’t sure if they understood her. She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat, but before she could ask again, the woman moved closer towards the bed, leaned over and took Bea’s hand, squeezing it tightly.
‘I’m so sorry, sweetie.’ Her voice was gentle. ‘I’m afraid Sebastian didn’t make it.’
Bea didn’t know how to respond. She looked at the doctors, still standing next to her bed, worried expressions on their faces. Tears started welling in her eyes, but she didn’t want to cry. Not in front of complete strangers. She wanted to be strong, just as she’d had to be for the past years.
Turning back to the woman, Bea saw that she was still looking at her eagerly, her eyes crinkled, her head cocked slightly to the side. ‘How are you?’ she asked again.
‘Uhm, I’m not sure,’ Bea finally responded. Then, memory came flooding back, and she felt her chest tighten. ‘My leg,’ she said softly, looking towards the doctors.
The two men looked at each other. ‘You broke your right leg,’ one of them said. ‘But we were more worried about the injuries to your head. We had to put you in a medically-induced coma to give your body time to heal. It was touch-and-go for a while, but you’re doing well.’
‘What about my leg?’ There was a shrillness to her voice that she’d never heard.
‘It was a bad break, but a clean one,’ one of the doctors responded. ‘We’ve performed surgery to align the bone and placed pins to help keep it in place until it heals.’
‘Will I be able to walk?’ Bea’s voice was so soft that she could barely hear herself over the noise coming from the machines.
‘We think so. But you have a long road ahead of you. You must do physiotherapy, commit yourself to follow all instructions. And take it easy.’
The other doctor jumped in. ‘But that’s not our focus right now. It will be a few weeks before you can safely start the process to walk again. For now, it’s important to continue gaining strength, make sure you don’t overdo it and set your recovery back.’
‘Will I ever be able to go back to ballet?’
The two doctors looked at each other. The woman’s face was pinched, as if she was trying really hard not to show what she was thinking. There was a glimmer in her eyes and Bea knew that if a complete stranger was holding back tears, the prognosis was not good.
‘It’s too early to tell,’ one of the doctors said. ‘We’ll have to see how the recovery goes, how well your brain heals before focusing on your leg. It all depends on several factors that we don’t always have control over. What’s important right now is that you rest. That will help you heal.’
Bea felt a cold hand on hers and looked towards the woman. There was a kindness in her face that Bea had not seen in a long time. ‘You need to listen to the doctors, sweetheart. We will all work to help you get better.’
‘Who are you?’ The question sounded rude but Bea needed to know.
‘Oh, yeah, I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Esther. I’m in charge of you from now on.’
‘But… but what about Miriam?’ Bea remembered seeing Miriam flying out of the shattered windscreen, her mouth open in a terrified scream. ‘Is she dead?’
‘Oh, no, no, she’s not dead. But she’s badly injured. Unfortunately, she won’t be running the home any longer.’
For a moment Bea didn’t know whether she had heard right. Could Miriam be history? Were the years of torment and abuse finally over? Bea didn’t even know what to wish for. ‘How badly hurt?’ she asked.
The woman cocked her head to one side and looked at her with kind eyes. ‘We don’t know yet. The doctors are still to determine the extent of her injuries. I’m sorry. I know all of you loved Miriam. I will try my best to find you a fitting replacement.’
7
The days dragged by. The doctors had forbidden Bea from putting any pressure on her leg, so she spent all her time in bed or in a wheelchair, watching television. She tried not to think about her injury, hoped that if she listened to the doctors her leg would heal properly and she would be able to dance again. That was all she could think of, her driving force.
Her friends from ballet came to visit her. Bea knew that they meant well, but seeing them waltz in felt like a crushing weight on her chest. Their fluid movements taunted her. She tried to sit up in bed, look taller, but she couldn’t move. It took an army of nurses to get her in the wheelchair whenever she needed to be taken somewhere else. She certainly could not do it on her own.
The worst part was the loneliness. The hours spent staring at the white walls, wishing for the time to go quicker. She had been appointed a tutor, who came to see her and brought her homework. But that wasn’t enough to occupy her days. She needed more. Something to look forward to. But there was nothing. Just an absolute expanse of emptiness looming in front of her.
Often, she’d find herself fantasising about her future. To a time when her leg would be properly healed and she would go back to ballet. She’d work hard, make up for lost time, do all the necessary exercises to strengthen her muscles, compensate for any weakness caused by the fracture. The doctors had to be wrong. They didn’t know everything. She’d surprise them by getting better, become a ballerina, invite them all for opening night one day. It would be so amazing – the ones who had helped her get better watching her perform.
The night before the cast was due to come off Bea couldn’t sleep. Her body tingled with excitement. The doctors had warned her that they would not know the extent of the injury yet, whether there even was any permanent damage. ‘You need to be patient, work with the physiotherapists, let them guide you.’
Bea tried to keep calm as she was wheeled to a treatment room. The technician was friendly. ‘Today’s the day,’ he said. He blew into a rubber glove before pulling it on. Bea forced herself to smile but didn’t say anything.
The technician busied himself with the electric saw. Its whirring sound was music to Bea’s ears. It was the prelude to her freedom.
‘OK, are you ready?’ he said.
She nodded excitedly.
‘Don’t move.’
She wouldn’t dare. She was almost scared to breathe while he cut round the cast, her eyes riveted to each movement, her palms sweating and her hands trembling with excitement.
Finally the cast was off. Bea looked down at her leg and her heart sank. What just weeks before had been a strong muscled limb looked painfully thin, the grey tinge contributing to the unhealthy look. How was she ever going to get this leg back to how it had been? The leg that would pirouette round the stage.
Bea felt a hand on her shoulder and looked behind her. The nurse who had brought her to the treatment room looked down with gentle eyes. ‘It’s OK, honey. It always looks bad after being in a cast for so long. But we’ll help you regain strength. The harder you work, the stronger you’ll get. Just listen to the doctors and you’ll be back on your feet in no time.’
Somehow Bea doubted that it was as simple as the nurse made it sound. But she didn’t have the energy to argue. There was still so much to worry about, especially what was in store for her next. Her recovery had been slow, but she had finally made enough progress that doctors had started talking about discharging her. And that meant a new home. A place where she knew nobody. All the other children had been found placements while she was still in a coma; she was the only one still in hospital. She was still waiting to hear but she didn’t care really. It couldn’t be as bad as the place she had come from. Nobody could be as horrible as Miriam. At least she hoped not. Fate had saved her from Miriam’s grasp. She just hoped that fate woul
dn’t let her down now.
*
Bea clenched her teeth and tightened her hands on the bars. She held on so tight that her knuckles turned white, her fingers started to tingle. Closing her eyes firmly, she lifted her right foot and took a tentative step forward.
‘Aaaahhhh,’ she screamed as her foot touched the ground. The pain sent shockwaves through her system and she let go of the bars and fell back into the chair that had been placed just behind her.
Tears sprang to her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. It had been a week since the cast had come off. She had followed the doctors’ advice to keep the weight off her leg, not to put any pressure on it. She had obediently used a wheelchair, attended the physiotherapy sessions, done all the exercises. ‘Don’t overdo it,’ the therapist had warned. And as much as Bea wanted to exercise round the clock, she had done as she was told.
The day had finally come. She was to take her first steps. Last night she couldn’t sleep. She lay in the uncomfortable hospital bed thinking. Her orthopaedic surgeon had said they would be able to get a better idea of the damage, how quickly she would recover, whether she would ever gain full mobility.
She was scared, but hopeful. Her leg hurt, shooting pains that started in her toes and went up her calf. Often she’d get pins and needles, but she was used to pain in her legs. Ballet was not for the faint-hearted. She remembered her mother’s bleeding blisters, her bruised toes. How she danced through the pain. She’d do the same. She had no choice. She had to do it for her mother.
But the moment her foot touched the ground and Bea put the slightest pressure on it, all hope disappeared. Something was wrong. The pain was unbearable. If she couldn’t even take one step without screaming in agony, how could she spend hours practising?
Her body started shaking uncontrollably and tears streamed down her cheeks. She grasped the wheelchair’s armrests tightly, as if her life depended on it, intent on standing up again, making one more attempt. Continuing to try until the pain abated. Or she got used to it.
The hand on her shoulder was gentle but firm. ‘Let’s take a break,’ the physiotherapist said. He kneeled in front of her and started rubbing her leg, his expert fingers massaging her aching calf muscle. Bea sat back in the chair, engulfed in despair, not knowing what to do. Her dream was over. She would never be like her mother. She had failed her.
*
Nurses and doctors lined the corridors. There were colourful signs and balloons. Some had tears in their eyes. They burst into applause as Bea emerged from the ward. After three months in hospital, everyone seemed to know her. They’d pop into her cubicle for a chat. Someone was always bringing her a home-cooked meal. Her side table was covered in books and magazines.
‘We’re so proud of you,’ one of the nurses, a kind portly lady named Helga, said. She walked towards Bea and hugged her tightly, sniffling loudly.
Bea didn’t say anything. She allowed everyone to hug her, squeeze her hands. She smiled at them. But the emotion she felt had nothing to do with leaving the hospital, her home for the past thirteen weeks. She was glad to be leaving. This place had served no purpose. Even after following all the instructions, doing exactly what the doctors told her, painful physio sessions, she knew her leg would never be the same.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ said Dr Osborne, the orthopaedic surgeon. ‘Come and visit when you’re in the neighbourhood.’
Even as she nodded, Bea knew it to be a lie. She never wanted to come back to this hospital now that her treatment was being transferred to an outpatient clinic closer to her new home.
That thought of her new home had been weighing on her mind. After years with Miriam she was being placed with a family. It would be better, she’d been told. A proper home. She was sceptical but knew she had no choice.
Gemma Stone was waiting for her at the end of the corridor, a smile plastered on her face. She was always smiling. She had visited for the first time a few weeks back, accompanied by Esther, who had introduced Gemma as Bea’s new foster carer. ‘You’re going to be the only foster child, but Gemma has two children, around your age, so you’re going to have someone to play with. It’s going to be fun,’ the social worker had said, her rosy cheeks beaming.
Gemma had visited multiple times a week and on weekends she’d brought her children, Alexander and Sophia. She’d always brought a gift, either a book, or a piece of chocolate. She’d brought a plant that she watered every time she came. And there were beautifully scented soaps and fancy shampoos. The latest gifts were a pair of wool-lined slippers that felt like sliding your feet into heaven. ‘She seems really nice,’ one of the nurses had said after one of Gemma’s visits. Bea had just nodded. Everyone seemed nice, she thought. Until you were alone with them. She was still not convinced her life was going to get any better and wondered what was in store for her once she left the safe embrace of the hospital.
But the decision was not Bea’s so she smiled back at Gemma as she was wheeled out to the car park. Gemma’s husband, Martin, was waiting by the dark blue hatchback. He’d visited once but had spent most of the time doing a crossword puzzle. Even now, he looked aloof, as if he would rather be anywhere else. But when Gemma called him, he obediently walked towards the wheelchair and patted Bea on the shoulder. ‘We’re happy to have you with us, Bea,’ he said. ‘Alex and Sophia cannot wait for you to get home.’
‘Your clothes and books are already in your room,’ Gemma said, her smile widening further. She’d picked everything up the day before, transforming Bea’s cluttered section into a clinical space devoid of personality, just as it was when she had been moved there from the ICU.
The nurse stopped the wheelchair next to the car’s open door and Martin reached out to Bea, helping her up while keeping her right leg straight. She pivoted on her other leg and leaned against the car’s seat before Martin lifted her up, sliding her into the car.
‘Here, let me do it,’ Gemma said, gently pushing her husband to the side, pulling the seat belt across and fastening it. ‘Do you need a blanket? Here, I brought one.’ She didn’t wait for Bea to respond but draped the soft woollen knit across Bea’s lap, tucking it gently around her injured leg. ‘Are you comfortable?’
‘Yes, very. Thank you.’ And for the first time in what seemed like forever Bea meant what she said. Cocooned in the back of the car, the soft blanket hugging the lower part of her body, she felt a world removed from the life she knew before the accident, where only a handful of people cared about her, where she didn’t know what the next hour would bring.
The drive to the Stones’ house took less than thirty minutes and Gemma spent all of it pointing at landmarks, never allowing a lull in the conversation. Bea would have loved a moment to take everything in, some silence to clear her mind, prepare for the new life that was about to start. But evidently Gemma believed that the hospitable thing to do was to continue talking. ‘See that’s the school, it’s not too far from home.’ It was an imposing building, with large iron gates and children in pristine uniforms. The thought of a stuffy private school scared Bea but she didn’t have a choice.
Gemma pointed out the grocery store and some fancy bakery chain that Bea had heard of but never set foot in. Parks dotted the neighbourhood and Bea could see women pushing their young children in prams, others sitting on benches reading, unleashed dogs running round.
‘We’re here,’ Gemma said, twisting round in her seat, her face bright, her smile even bigger than usual. ‘Isn’t it great to have this park right across from our house? The children play there all the time and soon you'll be able to join them. We’ll make sure that you don’t exert yourself too much but the fresh air will do you good. I asked the doctor already.’
The Stones’ house was a large semi-detached brick building looking over the leafy opening. Although she tried not to let her surprise show, Bea was impressed. If you could judge a book from its cover, this house was much better than her former residence. And yet, she forced herself to keep her excitement at
bay. She knew that things were rarely as they appeared.
Martin squeezed the car in the tight space in front of the house and both he and Gemma jumped out. ‘Don’t move,’ Gemma instructed. She opened the back door and gently unfurled the blanket from around Bea’s leg before unbuckling the seat belt. ‘We have a few steps to get to the house,’ she said, nodding towards the building to the obstacle that Bea had already noticed. ‘Martin will carry you so that you don’t exert yourself. But the doctors said you will soon be able to go up and down stairs and in fact they encourage it. We asked about putting a ramp, whether that would help, but they said that it was not necessary. In the meantime, however, we’ve set up your bedroom temporarily in our office so that you’re on the ground floor and don’t have to worry about going upstairs. We’ll move you to your proper bedroom when the time comes. We’ll consult with the doctors on the timing, of course, make sure you’re ready for it.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Bea said.
‘I hope you’re not disappointed.’ A look of concern spread across Gemma’s face. ‘I should have asked you before making such a decision. I’m just trying to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible and we’re doing everything we can to aid your recovery. I know how important that is for you. But once you feel up to it, we can go upstairs and look at your room. Think of this as a temporary place until you feel better.’
‘This sounds wonderful,’ Bea said. ‘Thank you for thinking of everything.’
‘Of course. You’re part of our family now. We’ll make sure that you’re well cared for and protected.’
‘OK, enough with this soppiness.’ Martin moved in front of his wife. ‘Are you ready?’
Bea nodded and leaned forward, wrapping her arms round his neck. She felt strange being carried by someone she barely knew, but the last three months had been filled with unexpected and new experiences.
We All Fall Down Page 4
