by Louisa Reid
‘Aud?’ she shouted. ‘What are you doing up there, Aud?’
‘Nothing,’ I called, and with fumbling, terrified fingers I jammed everything back into the box, shoving it into place.
That afternoon, as we stuffed bags full of clothes and things Mum said she needed to keep, I tried to think. Peter kept looking at me, casting nervous, wary glances.
‘I like my school, Aud,’ he said, ‘and Jake said he’d be my best friend and I could play with him at lunchtime.’
‘I know, Pete. I’m sorry.’ I packed his little bag of toys and clothes, and couldn’t find any other words. He began to throw his stones against the wall and I didn’t tell him to stop.
The phone rang. It’d be the ward. I scrambled up but Mum got there before I could, and I strained to hear, leaning over the rickety banister.
‘Wonderful, yes; we’ll be along soon, thank you,’ she lied, before slamming down the receiver and striding back up the stairs.
‘Come on – get a move on, Aud. You’ve got enough stuff there, haven’t you?’ She grabbed my bag out of my hands and an armful of Peter’s things. ‘Let’s get this lot in the car.’
As we packed the bags into the boot it started to rain. Big fat drops fell from the heavy, bursting sky.
‘Typical,’ Mum muttered, slamming the door shut, nearly catching Peter’s arm. ‘Get to bed now, you two. We’ve got an early start.’
The phone rang on and off throughout the evening. There was no way to answer without Mum knowing. Even if I did, what would I say?
When the flat was quiet, I got out of bed and pulled on a jumper and tracksuit bottoms, breathing heavily, hard.
We needed to do something and do it now. Mr McGuiness couldn’t help me, Leo couldn’t help me, no one could. I had to do it for myself and for Peter. I had to stop this.
The floorboards creaked under my feet, just a little, and I edged to the wall and inched along. I stopped in the hallway and listened at the Thing’s door. Her breathing was slow and deep, a snore rattled in her throat now and then. I pushed the door open, just a touch. She looked different asleep. Tired. But not peaceful; her mouth slack, twisting on silent words every now and then, chewing them over, preparing her lies. I leant over her. What did she think? What happened in her mind to make her believe that she could hurt me forever? A sob rose in my throat, and I covered my mouth, tried to stifle the noise. Too late. She turned, moaned, and I inched back away from her.
I crept out of the room. Downstairs I opened the cupboard in the kitchen, Mum’s medicine store, and removed the tubs of pills, lining them up on the table. I sat at the computer, assembling my proof.
Confronted with the glare of the screen, my eyes ached. I squinted, typed with one finger:
Lithium
Fluoxetine
Diazepam
Olanzapine
Risperidone
Some had been prescribed. Others were Mum’s gift to me: her love, her care. Take this, Aud, you’ll feel better. If you don’t take your pills, you’ll never be well. Come on, love, just one more. I’d swallowed and choked and swallowed again, thinking one day, one day, it would stop.
And my body’s revolt, its anxious twist into silence and suffering, it had all been a trick and a lie.
More words, names on half-empty tubs. Bottle after bottle. I scattered the contents over the table. I’d taken these sometimes too. But I didn’t have diabetes, epilepsy, a heart condition; I didn’t need statins or steroids or sleeping pills. It was a miracle I was still alive. My mouth filled with bile. This toxic cocktail I’d swallowed like sweets; I couldn’t ignore it now. It had to stop.
I loaded the blog. It was hard to focus on the screen, hard to make my fingers do the work, my brain clear enough to write. But it was my only hope.
There was no other way to put it. HELP ME, I typed.
Hurry now, I thought. Hurry up or the Thing will come. She’ll wake and chase and scratch and bite and hurt and put you in hospital, trap you again. Be fast, Audrey, I thought. Come on – save yourself, save Peter. Stop this now.
SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME. IF YOU DON’T HELP ME, THEN MY MOTHER WILL KILL ME, I KNOW SHE WILL.
No one would believe; they’d think these the words of some crazy, psychotic teenager.
I AM NOT ILL. MY MUM IS THE ONE WHO NEEDS HELP. SEND SOMEONE, HERE TO THE GRANGE. MY MUM IS GOING TO KILL ME. MY MOTHER ONLY LOVES ME WHEN I AM SICK, BUT I THINK I’M GOING TO DIE.
I typed the address of the Grange, loaded the post, then shoved back the chair, walking faster back upstairs. People read that blog; they did. They would help. They would rescue us. Come on, Aud, I told myself again, pulling myself up the little flight of stairs. Come on – you have to do it. Don’t lie down, don’t give in, get away, get away, get away. I wasn’t dead yet, I could still live. Rain lashed the windows; the wind threw itself against the Grange. It was too late to care what would happen to Mum. She’d left long ago; standing in her place, sleeping in her bed, was the Thing. I didn’t care about the Thing. She meant nothing to me. She deserved everything she got.
There was only one truth, I thought, crouching beside my brother’s bed, there was only one thing I knew for sure: I had to save us. I ran my hand over my head, the hair soft, bristling with a centimetre’s growth. I had not done this to myself. I was not mad and we might still have a chance.
‘Pete,’ I whispered, ‘Pete.’ Still he slept as if drugged. Drugged. As I had been.
Right now someone could be reading that message. Leo? Jen? Sue? They’d read it and come; read it and run. Or maybe they’d think I was lying, deranged. Mothers don’t make their children ill, the Thing laughed inside my head. Or if they did believe, what then? Would Mum go to prison? Would I? All the lies I’d told the doctors. Would there be trouble about that? After all, I’d colluded. That was the word they used. Yes, nodded the Thing again. You’re ill, Audrey, mentally ill. You lied too. And that’s because you’re mad. You like all the fuss, the attention, the care. You love to be poorly; that’s why you’ve lied. You’re my little girl.
Would they believe the words of a girl who’d tried to kill herself, who’d sat in a wheelchair for weeks, refusing to move? And what would happen to us if they believed me? What would happened if they didn’t? The questions ricocheted through my brain, making me dizzy. I gripped the bed.
I stood and walked over to the window, staring towards the farm. The lights winked, died. I thought about it again and knew I had to find the strength.
And then. Noise. From Mum’s room. Her bed creaked. She coughed, hacked up phlegm. I heard footsteps, a door open and close, steps treading towards me.
No. She couldn’t hurt me, not on purpose. It wasn’t her fault. I would tell her I understood, that I knew it was the Thing, not her, not really. Not my mum. It would be all right. We would sort this out. I could help her.
‘Audrey?’ She stood in the doorway.
‘Mum.’ Thing, my mind screamed. No, my heart cried.
‘What are you up to?’ She clicked on the light. Blinked. Looked at me, dressed and ready to go. She smiled slowly and spoke, clear and calm as if I were a mere child.
‘This again, Aud.’ She sighed. ‘Running away, are we? Don’t you remember what happened last time, love? You couldn’t cope. You couldn’t manage without me and you had to come back. You know you’re too sick, love; you need your mum. Now, come on. Let’s get you to bed; we’ve got a big day tomorrow. We’re going to get this sorted once and for all. I know a good doctor, up in Scotland. He’s the expert; he’s the one we need.’ She walked towards me, her arms outstretched.
A mother’s arms should be strong and safe. Gentle. Kind. For a second I believed, once more, like I’d always believed. My mother couldn’t hurt me. She wouldn’t do that.
And then a flash of lightning lit the room. A hard silver streak flared through the darkness. I jumped, afraid, and the doors inside my head began to open, creaking and then banging, as if blown by the wind.
I stared inside the first room, into its cavernous space. It took shape: I saw a bath, the toilet, my own fluffy pink dressing gown in a puddle on the floor. And there was Mum holding my wrists over the sink, the bare bulb in the bathroom illuminating the scene. I saw myself, standing, immobile. And my mother lifting her hand, something flashing, metal and sharp, and then the blood as she cut, fast and deep and sure. My breath stopped in shock. I felt the pain as if for the first time and doubled over, screwing my eyes against the horror. No.
The Thing had held me then, just as she did now. Its ragged smile, Medusa hair, her fingers sharp and clawed.
A drumroll of thunder. I heard Peter call, but he sounded far away, his voice small.
‘You did it; you cut me, you hurt me, Mum,’ I yelled the truth aloud, as if someone would hear and help. ‘You told them I was sick. That I’m ill; that I’m mad. But I’m not and I’ll tell, I will, I’ll tell,’ I screamed, but she grabbed my hands and stopped my mouth. Strong hands, binding, twisting, dragging.
‘Audrey!’ She said my name through gritted teeth as I tried to pull away.
Another door, opened, swinging wide. I stared within. Too many memories fighting to surface, all at once. I watched, as the flashes of horror appeared like stills from a film.
Here is my hand. Here the car door, and Mum slamming it hard, trapping and snapping.
Here are her fingers scraping down my throat, making me gag, making me vomit.
Here is the lotion she rubs on my arm, burning my skin.
Here she is pushing me fast into the canal: a shove to the small of my back. I am four. She knows I can’t swim.
Here are the icy steps; she’s behind me again. I fall. I see bone.
Here are the pills and the blades and the scars on my skin.
No. I turned away, struggling with the truth and the fear and the pain. The overwhelming tide of pain; all the years of it powering over me, crushing like a tsunami, as the storm raged outside the Grange. The water was rising, coming to take me; I heard it churn and roar.
‘You lied. You told them I’m ill. You cut me up, my arms, my hair. You did it, Mum. You’re sick. You need help.’
She looked at me as if I were a stranger, then threw me from her, turning her back and running out of the room and down the stairs. I followed, pulled along by the cord that tied us, that was only yet frayed.
‘Wait,’ I cried. ‘Where are you going?’
She slammed the kitchen door, I heard the squeal of a chair dragged across the floor, locking me out.
‘Mum, open up.’
‘Leave me alone,’ Mum screamed. ‘Get away from me, Audrey, you ungrateful little bitch. Run off if you like, like you want to,’ she ranted, her voice high and fast. ‘You’ve never thanked me, not once, never cared about me, when all I’ve done is look out for you; my whole life I’ve been trying to help you, keep you safe, get you better, and this is what you do. You cheat me and betray me, Audrey. You bitch, that’s what you are, just like my sister, just like my parents; no one ever gave a shit about me.’
‘Mum, please; what are you doing?’ Doors opened and slammed. The clatter and crash of glasses and plates, something smashing on the floor. I pushed against the door. It gave a little – she’d only barred it with a chair.
‘Let me in. Please.’
I pushed again and the chair toppled and fell. Mum was at the table; she had the pills I’d spilled and scattered, scooping them up in handfuls,.
‘This is what you want, isn’t it? This. You hate me, Audrey? You should just say so. I’ll die, I’ll leave you forever – you can get on with it; go your own way. See what happens then. See how long you last.’
‘Stop it,’ I screamed, pulling her arms, but she’d always been too strong.
‘Mum,’ I shouted as she swallowed and grabbed a bottle from the fridge, swigging the drink. It ran down her chin, soaking her nightie.
Peter appeared at the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
‘What is it?’ he said. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, Pete – go back to bed.’ I tried to shield him, put my body between them, but Mum was shouting.
‘Your sister thinks I’m a liar, that I hurt her, Peter. Have I ever hurt you? Have I ever laid a finger?’
His face dissolved as she swore at me, pointed her finger, screamed how I’d ruined her life. She wouldn’t stop. I needed help, but no one was coming, where were they? Why weren’t they here? I swung round, searching for something, a way to make this stop, and Mum barged me, grabbing my brother, clutching him to her.
Leo
The storm set in. Sue and Leo shut and locked windows and doors, fighting against the wind. Leo stared at the thrashing trees as they wrestled and danced, the sky gyrating with clouds.
He hoped Audrey and Peter were safe inside and tried to see across the fields for lights in the distance, but it was already too dark.
Leo sat down at the piano to play – he was working out a part for one of Billy’s songs, thinking he might write a song of his own, something for Audrey maybe, when the phone went. He picked it up. There was no one there. Just breathing. Shallow and faint.
‘Hello?’
Nothing.
‘Audrey?’
Still no reply.
‘Peter?’
No one answered.
Leo hung up and walked to the computer. He’d become obsessed with the blog and knew each post almost off by heart. There’d been nothing new for a few days; now the capitals, taking up the page, jumped out at him:
HELP ME. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME. IF YOU DON’T HELP ME, THEN MY MOTHER WILL KILL ME.
He jumped up from the keyboard, bellowing out a long shout of rage.
‘Where are you going?’ Sue asked, discovering Leo pulling on his outdoor things, pocketing her keys.
‘The Grange.’ He turned and looked at her briefly, taking in nothing.
‘What? Why?’
‘Something’s happened. Fuck. Sue, hurry up. We have to go.’
‘Leo, you can’t go over there now. Look at it outside.’ She gestured at the storm. Mary cowered at her feet.
‘It’s a bit of wind and rain. Come on.’
‘It’s a storm, and it’s going to get worse.’ As Sue spoke thunder cracked like a whip above the farmhouse. It spurred him on. He opened the door.
‘Wait, then – I’ll come,’ his aunt said, and she pulled on her coat and boots and they hurried out into the night.
When they got to the Grange, Leo jumped out of the car, running across the gravel and over the moat. Something caught his gaze and he stared at the water and the glowing white shapes floating on the dark filth of its surface. Rain pelting his face, his stomach churning, he stepped forward. It looked like arms, legs, tiny pieces – a baby’s body? No, it couldn’t be. He got a stick, and pulled what looked like the torso closer, dragging it up out of the mud. The cold, frozen thing slithered in his hands and he dropped it in disgust. That doll. Madison, Aud had called it. For a second he’d thought, irrationally, that it was Peter. He swallowed back vomit and ran again, fighting with the wind, to get to the front door. Sue caught up with him.
‘What?’
Leo didn’t answer. He pushed the main door – it wasn’t locked, accepting him like it had been waiting, always waiting – and he fell inside.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Sue shouting for him to hang on, Leo ran. There was no time to think any more. No time to dawdle and chat and do nothing.
The door to the flat stood open. Leo stepped inside, ran towards the light, and saw Audrey, then Lorraine holding Peter against her. Peter’s face was white, his mouth open in a silent scream.
Aud was pleading, very quiet, holding out her arms: ‘Mum, let go of him, let go.’
Sue barged in behind Leo.
‘Lorraine? What’s going on?’ she yelled.
Leo locked eyes with Sue. Hers were wide and panicked. He thought fast: what should he do? He reached out and touched Aud’s arm,
but she didn’t seem to realize he was there. He looked around the room; everything had been turned upside down as if there’d been a fight or a breakin, some terrible trouble. The kitchen was covered in debris. Broken pots, glasses, pills scattered, empty tubs on the floor. A chair overturned. The window shattered.
Sue spoke again: ‘Lorraine, it’s all right. Let Peter go.’
She wasn’t going to. Her arms tightened round Peter’s body. Leo took a step. Sue moved at the same time and together they darted forward. Leo grabbed one of Lorraine’s arms, Sue the other, but she was terribly strong; it was hard to pull Peter free, to wrestle Lorraine to the ground and pin her. She thrashed and writhed, shouting and spitting.
‘Get your hands off me; get off me.’ She swore and she spat, her legs kicking out, wild.
‘Aud, ring the police,’ Leo shouted. ‘Hurry, come on.’
Audrey was holding Peter. She had her arms round him, then she turned from the room and ran.
Suddenly Lorraine gave up, all the fight draining away. She lay exhausted on the floor and turned her face to Sue, tears trickling down her cheeks, muttering something Leo couldn’t make out. Then she began to heave, her body twisting as she vomited.
He took out his phone and dialled 999.
‘I need to find Aud,’ Leo told Sue. She nodded. His aunt’s face was a strange mixture of shock and determination.
‘It’s all right. I’ll stay here with Lorraine until the police come. I can handle this. Find them, Leo,’ she said, sounding calm.
Leo pelted up the little flight of stairs to the bedrooms.
‘Aud, where are you? Audrey?’
Audrey’s room was dark. He’d never been in here before, and for the first time saw the paper on the windows, the walls patched with pictures. Pictures of birds and clouds and the Milky Way. It was all sky, as if that were her element, as if she longed to fly.
