Coma

by Emmy Ellis

  * * * *

  Scott didn’t go in for garden peas much. He preferred the processed peas from a tin, said they had a better taste. That meant all three of us had to eat them. Mags never did say which kind of pea she preferred. Not that it mattered, really. It just went to show she’d go along with whatever made Scott happy. Fuck everyone else.

  I hated those peas. The texture of them. Scott, he was a sinister bastard. Not content with introducing me to my ‘new best friend’, he’d obviously thought up his other sick game as a form of control. Scott knew I’d play by the rules or risk a whipping from Mags.

  She said, “Right, Scott. Let’s get this trip to the supermarket over and done with, eh?”

  Scott cleared his throat and gave a half-hearted cough. “I don’t actually feel up to going. Bit of a dicky throat, slight headache coming on.”

  Mags didn’t protest much. “You never seem to feel well enough to do the shopping with me these days. Cheeky bastard.”

  He swatted her behind. “Go on, woman. Get going.”

  Mags dutifully left, leaving him and me alone.

  “This evening’s performance veers away from the tried and tested,” Scott said. “We’re going to perform the next act. Come with me into the kitchen, shit-for-brains.”

  I followed him.

  “Sit at the table.”

  I sat.

  Scott reached into the cupboard and brought out two tins of processed peas. “Now then. Fish and chips are about to go into the oven. What better accompaniment than good old processed peas?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Scott turned to me, his face a mask of utter hatred. “I said, what better accompaniment than good old processed peas?”

  “Nothing is better than processed peas, Scott.”

  “That’s right, nothing better.”

  He turned his back to me, picked up a tin in each hand, and swivelled round to face me again. Placing the tins on the centre isle worktop, he said, “One tin for Mags and me. One tin for you. And it isn’t because I’m planning on making you eat a whole tin just because I know you don’t like them. No, got something funnier than that in mind.”

  Scott’s laugh sliced through the air, quite shrill for a guy. It nudged at my nerves, and my eyes stung. He turned around, whipped open the oven door, and placed a tray of frozen fish and chips onto the shelf. Twisting the gas knob, he reached up and patted the worktop in search of a box of matches. Once found, he flicked one down the side of the box and lit the gas in the oven.

  He slammed the oven door closed and looked back at me. “What’s up, dickhead?”

  “Nothing.” I fiddled with my trouser material, rubbed my sweaty palms down my thighs. I wanted to cry.

  The mocking creak of Scott’s zip sounded. “Right. See your best friend here? He’s gonna puke all over your peas. When your mum gets home, you’re going to eat those peas.”

  My stomach roiled at the thought of it.

  Mags came home. “I smell fish. Hey, feeling better or something?” she said and plunked shopping bags on the kitchen floor.

  “Eh?” Scott said.

  “You made dinner. Thought I was going to have to make it when I got back.” She bent down and ferreted in one of the carrier bags, pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Standing upright, she snatched up the box of matches and lit her smoke greedily. “I needed this fag so badly.” She blew out a seemingly ever-lasting plume of smoke. “So, like I just asked, you feeling better?”

  “Yeah, much. Had a couple of headache tablets.” Scott shifted the bags to the side of the kitchen out of his way. “So, while you sit down there and finish your ciggie, I’ll dish up the dinner. Wayne laid the table. Reckons he’s starving tonight. Bet he eats his dinner all up. That’s what he said anyway, didn’t you, Wayne?”

  I swallowed, stifled a cough as Mags’ smoke invaded my lungs. “Yes.”

  Mags shouldered into me, laughed her smoky breath in my face. “Good kid. See, you can be good sometimes.”

  She smiled at me, seemed pretty genuine, but I never could tell when that smile would transform into a scowl and she’d let the belt fly.

  I smiled back, then turned to look out at the trees in the garden. Autumn had come and gone. Bare branches stared back at me, stark, open to the elements.

  A bit like me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So, Wayne. What does the Scott of your mind look like now?” Jen asked.

  “Well, he’s got chains all over him.”

  “Excellent.”

  I jumped at the crack of Jen’s palms meeting. I tightened my eyes momentarily and inhaled to steady my fluttering pulse.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Jen.”

  “Keep your eyes closed. Think about what you’d like to tell me next. We still have an hour and a half of this session left. You’ve come so far in the past weeks. Hey…” There was the swish of Jen’s skirts and the sound of the mini fridge opening and closing. “What say we try and slay Scott the Dragon once and for all today, hmm? I know you said you had a couple more issues you’d like to address, and then I think he’ll finally be ashes, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  The air around me changed; Jen must be close. A stronger whiff of her perfume caressed my senses. Then came the rustle of a straw being removed from the side of the carton—snap-snap—and it being taken out of its plastic case and popped into the silver moon.

  * * * *

  With some of Dad’s insurance policy, Mags and Scott went on holiday. Yeah, you heard me right. Mags and Scott. Me? They left me behind.

  In the garden shed.

  The shed was a large one, but still, left to my own devices in there, well, it wreaked havoc on my mind.

  Mags, unravelling an extension cord from the house to the shed, whistled Summer Holiday. I stood on the grass and watched her, wondering what the hell she was up to. I’d heard them discussing Bognor Regis, a beach, late nights, and sex. I’d stupidly assumed I’d be part of their holiday plans. Like they would take me with them.

  “What you gawping at, kid?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So you’re saying I’m nothing now? Which means I don’t mean jack shit to you, that you’d prefer it if I didn’t exist.”

  She’d got that right.

  “No,” I said while toeing the grass.

  A black beetle meandered through the green blades, its gait unsteady. What must it be like to be a beetle, no parents as such to treat you like shit? Nothing to fear except someone stomping on you with their size nines, or maybe a bird swooping down and squeezing the life out of you with its beak.

  “Good. Otherwise, I’ll leave you without electricity, without a fridge, and without any fucking food.” She disappeared into the shed with one end of the cord. Her voice came to me muffled; the shed door had slowly closed behind her, now open just a crack. “We’ll be gone for a week. There’s a little fridge in here; got you some supplies that should last you long enough. That’s if you don’t gorge yourself stupid in the first couple of days. Be good, and I might bring you back a stick of rock or something.”

  Her laughter danced out of the shed and sounded so harsh I winced. I swallowed, wondering if she was serious.

  The shed door opened, and she stepped out onto the grass. It needed cutting. The green blades disguised her painted toenails. She looked like she’d grown straight out of the damn soil. Not a flower—no, she’d never be one of those. More like a prickle bush, liable to make you bleed if you got too close.

  “Right. We’re off then.”

  What, now?

  “Oh, right.” I should have had something better to say.

  “If you want anything out of the house, you’d better act quick sharp about it, because all I’ve got to do is put our cases in the car and we’re out of here.”

  What did a kid need for a week? I quickly thought about Cairns. Mags had packed my case back then, and all I could recall was that I had enou
gh clothes to wear every day and two pairs of shoes.

  My eyes hurt; my gaze darted from Mags to the shed to the house. The urge to cry got me right in the throat. I held the tears back, though. Fucked if I would let Mags see me cry.

  Scott appeared at the back door.

  “You ready, Mags? Got a long journey ahead of us.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Just asked the kid here if there’s anything he wants from the house, but as usual, he’s standing there staring like a dumb-nut and hasn’t answered me.”

  “Wayne, get whatever you need from the house and fucking hurry up about it,” Scott snapped.

  I moved with the intention of scooting past him and into the house. Mags must have stuck out her foot. I tripped forward, landed on my knees. My forehead connected with Scott’s groin.

  “Aww. You gonna miss me, kid?” Scott drawled.

  I stood upright, dusted off my trousers, and nodded.

  “Scram! Five minutes!” Scott moved out of the doorway and let me pass.

  I pelted up the stairs, eyes stinging and forehead burning. I stuffed some clothes into a carrier bag and wondered if I’d need my bedding. Hell, I didn’t even know if I had a bed to sleep on. Folding my quilt lengthways, I placed various books in a row down the middle, along with my torch and a packet of batteries I’d pinched from the corner shop last time I’d been there. I rolled the quilt up, grabbed my pillow, and took my bundle downstairs.

  Mags and Scott stood in the living room.

  “Got all you want, dickhead?” Scott said.

  “Yes.”

  “Right then.” Mags picked up a suitcase. “We’ll be off. Soon as these beauties are in the car, I’m locking the house up. Best you go and make yourself comfortable in your new home.” No hint of worry, sorrow, nothing.

  I stared at them for what seemed ages, but it couldn’t have been long, otherwise they would have shouted in my face. My hands shook; I clutched the quilt tightly to my chest, turned away from them, and made my way out into the back garden.

  The bright sunshine of that morning did nothing to cheer me. If anything, it saddened me. The burn of it scorched my already hot face, seared at my watery eyes. They were going on holiday without me, leaving me behind.

  Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

  I stood just outside the back door, my quilt against my tummy, a buffer from the injustice of my situation. The sound of the back door closing and the key turning in the lock twisted my guts. Why the fuck did I have to stay in the shed? I’ll never understand their warped thinking. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

  * * * *

  I’d give Mags her due, she’d made quite a cool little house of the shed. I stood by the door and thought that if this had been done for any other reason, I’d have been excited.

  I stepped inside. She’d set up our small camp bed along the back wall opposite me. It had no bedding on it, so it was a good job I’d grabbed my quilt.

  Dad’s chair had been moved to the foot of the small bed. His stripy seat cushion brought the stone tumbling back into my throat and, as always, the sight of it dredged Coke and chocolate digestive biscuits to mind.

  A small fridge next to Dad’s chair had bottles of water on it and a small bowl of fruit, one piece for each day, I guessed. Beside the fridge, a four-tiered shelving unit housed three sliced loaves of bread, a multipack of crisps, a small tin of biscuits, and various other foodstuffs. Including a tin of processed peas.

  Bastard.

  Upon closer inspection, a tin opener, and a knife, fork, and spoon rested on the top shelf, along with a large plate and a bowl.

  Various scenarios swam through my mind, their strokes beginning with front crawl and ending in the frantic butterfly. I saw myself drowning as each image presented itself, water trickling down my throat and filling my lungs.

  Footsteps shuffled in the grass. The sound of a padlock being clipped shut on the shed door seemed so loud.

  Shit. They were locking me in?

  * * * *

  Funny how the human mind enabled us to cope. There I was, one little kid, left to his own devices. Survival lent me strength, and after many attempts of shoulder barging the shed door, the wood around the lock broke free, and the door swung open. It would mean only a flimsy catch secured me inside at night, but it was better than being locked in.

  I could have skipped school, fucked about all day, and got myself into trouble while they were enjoying themselves at the beach, but I didn’t.

  An abused kid still strived to protect his or her abusers. Missed them when they pissed off on holiday. That first night I cried like a baby. I wanted my own bed, needed to know the front door was locked, that no intruders were going to get in. Instead, I lay on a camp bed, where the loose springs dug into me through my clothes.

  Though midsummer, quite a breeze picked up. It butted at the shed door and buffeted it, and it rattled against the doorframe. The proverbial owl hooted, and various chirps and caws had me thinking some dangerous creature would barge in.

  I nearly shit myself, felt so scared that my guts contracted with every rustle, every creak, and once, a shadow passed the set of windows, and I thought my time was up. Some man would surely barge through the doorway of the shed and hack me to pieces.

  Heart thumping, I sat up on the little bed. Footsteps scrunched on the grass outside the door. I held my breath in an attempt to gauge what the hell it was out there in the garden.

  I moved to stand, and the damn camp bed creaked. A quick shuffle of grass from outside, a barely audible snort, and all grew silent. Or as silent as the night could be. The faint sound of traffic on a distant road, my laboured breaths, and my thwumping pulse all roared in my ears.

  Bravery arrived from nowhere. I stood and took two steps to the window nearest the bed. Squashing my left side against the shed wall, I squinted out into the darkness.

  Nothing out there. Absolutely nothing.

  Braver still, I made my way to the shelving unit and picked up my torch then walked to the shed door.

  I lifted the latch, pulled it so I didn’t have to grip my fingers round the edge of the door, and swung it open. The angry breeze smacked my cheeks much like Mags did, the resultant sting just the same. Flicking on my torch, I swung the beam from left to right over the grass. No man, no intruder, nothing except a pair of eyes that lit up like a demon’s as the torch beam crossed them.

  “Shit! What the fu—”

  I bit down on my tongue to still my voice and arced the beam across the grass once more. A snort similar to a kid’s laugh sounded. My heart rate picked up again.

  My hand shook, and the torch beam juddered across the grass. And came to rest on a light-blinded hedgehog.

  * * * *

  Scott and Mags had left on a Sunday, so the next day saw me at school. I had nowhere else to go, and as I was on free school meals, at least I’d get some hot food inside me and be in the company of others. Better than being alone.

  By Wednesday, a solitary seed of hate planted itself in my gut and grew. And grew. The dirty plate ensured hate’s growth. Sure, Mags had left enough food and drink, but she’d given me no means of washing my plate, bowl, and cutlery, unless I used the bottled water. For all she knew, I wouldn’t have used my brain and took the chinaware to school to wash in the boys’ toilets. Being caught scrubbing a dinner plate by Jason Ludd added to my tummy full of unease.

  I must have looked a right prick.

  I clenched my jaw tight, turned away from the mob crowding behind Jason, and pulled the plug out of the sink. Picking up my knife, fork, and spoon, I placed them in my unzipped bag. I reached up for my plate but couldn’t quite get a hold of the edge. It rolled, rolled right off the side of the sink and crashed onto the brown tiled floor.

  * * * *

  Jen’s breath sailed right over to me, whispering over the downy hairs on my face.

  “Is it time up?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is, Wayne. You’ll have to tell me what hap
pened when Mags and Scott came home tomorrow, though I wanted to get this all done and dusted in this session…” She cleared her throat. “Oh, and after we’ve dealt with Scott, I want to switch tactics and have a slight break.”

  My eyes sprang open. I stared at the ceiling. “You don’t want to see me for a while?”

  Please don’t say yes.

  Jen laughed, a giddy sound, a young girl in the playground who someone had pushed too high on a swing.

  “Oh no. I meant a break from the heavy stuff. I want to hear all about your stints at the gym.”

  I wanted to ask Jen a question but felt stupid, shy, awkward, and vulnerable.

  Jen’s brow creased, and she cocked her head to the side. “Something bothering you?”

  “Well…”

  Jen tsked. “Come on, this is me you’re talking to. Spit it out.”

  “Well, I was wondering. Will someone help me with my lisp?”

  “Your lisp? Good heavens, yes. Does it bother you that much?”

  “Yes. Didn’t have it before…”

  “Well, of course I can get someone to help you with that.”

  “Great. Thank you, Jen.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I reversed my wheelchair to Jen’s office door, opened it, and backed out into the corridor.

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Same time tomorrow, Wayne.”

  I just caught Jen’s wave as her door closed with a thud.

  Chapter Fourteen

  According to Dr George, I slept for quite some time without much brain activity. They tried me with these new drugs, and my brain woke up. Bully for me.

  To begin with, I’d just listened to the TV. I knew Scott and Mags were in the room but I tuned them out, couldn’t face the fact they were there every damn day, encroaching on my space. And the TV told me so much stuff.

  Dr George: a constant in my life. I heard him talking to Mags and Scott, but I didn’t listen, I just went off in my mind in search of other things to think about.