Coma

by Emmy Ellis

  And then there was Harmony. Though only a young girl, she’d looked after me and spoke to me the whole time she’d visited. Her nurse’s uniform swished, and forms on the clipboard that hung on the bottom of my bed rustled, her pen scratching on paper.

  She told me she’d have to move on to a new section of the hospital. My brain said Harmony was like Mags, that every female was just the same. I told myself Harmony didn’t want to be with me anymore, but she said to Dr George she’d be coming back to visit me once a week because she’d got attached to me.

  Dr George said, “Uh, I don’t think that’s a very good idea. It really doesn’t bode well to get attached to your patients. It does happen, but I’ll advise against you coming back here. You’ll have to learn to distance yourself from these people and move on to the next. If your thoughts are on past patients, it means you’re not giving the new ones your full attention.”

  These people? Well now, I thought that was fucking un-charming.

  “I see what you’re saying, but…” said Harmony.

  “No buts!”

  Harmony came and sat with me, told me there would be other nurses who would care for me as much as she had. That if I needed her, I just had to reach into my mind and she’d be there.

  I got so attached to Harmony, I convinced myself I wouldn’t be able to live without her. Devising that new life in my head let the demons in. Of course, the only home I’d ever known was the one I’d grown up in, so that became the home in my head. My memories lived in the damn walls of that house, and they seeped out into my fantasy world, clinging like oil on water. Most of my dreams were a bunch of bullshit, but other bits were true.

  Unfortunate, that.

  * * * *

  I didn’t mind sharing my space with the other three patients in this ward, but it had taken some getting used to. I’d had my own room for so long in the hospital that hearing other people snore at night got right on my nerves at first.

  I had a session with Jen coming up soon. One hour, forty-five minutes and sixteen seconds.

  I stared out of the window.

  There was a guy out there. Our room looked out onto a courtyard. This chair was easy to manipulate. I could push at the wheels without my palms screaming in pain now. The clouds grabbed my attention, and I drifted off.

  Mags was sitting at a kitchen table nursing a hot cup of tea, her twig-like fingers clasped around the cup. I looked at her, really looked at her, then turned and faced the worktop in the kitchen, snatched the kettle by the handle, and yanked the lid off.

  Mags, she was miles away. Probably thinking rude stuff about Scott. I shuddered and advanced towards her with the kettle. I was right beside her, and she hadn’t even noticed.

  “You’re dragging me down, Wayne. You’re the noose around my neck, you know that?”

  The kettle’s boiled water dripped down her face before I’d even registered I’d dashed it there. She screamed, clawed at her cheeks. Stared at me. Skin dangled from her face, cooled water dripping from each soggy chunk. Her facial muscles peeked out, twitching.

  “You fucking nutter, Wayne.”

  She lunged forward and snatched the kettle from me. Paid me back and jerked it towards me. Hot water landed on my face and burned like Hell…

  I blinked. Shit, that sun was hot on my face. I’d come outside to the courtyard. Summertime was warmer than what I remembered. Or maybe it just seemed that way now I was an adult. Nice breeze, though. I was going to go and talk to that guy, pass the time until I saw Jen.

  “Having a bad day?” I asked.

  The guy stared at me for a second then looked at the clouds.

  Another loon like me.

  “Clouds are good therapy,” I said.

  He continued to stare upwards.

  I parked my wheelchair next to his.

  “Had a setback,” he said.

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bit of an arse when that happens, eh?”

  “You could say that. Means I’m here for a damn sight longer than I originally thought.” He sighed.

  “What did you do?”

  “Poked Nurse Shelton in the eye.”

  “I…I…Is that all?”

  “No. I bit the end of her nose. Let’s hope they can sew it back on. How long you got left here? D’you know?”

  “I have to finish my therapy, get myself out of this chair, and sort out this lisp.”

  “Not long then. Lucky you.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ve got to go back in. Get ready to see Jen.”

  I turned and took one last look at him. His face, wet with tears, should really have softened my heart, but it didn’t. I couldn’t let it. I had too much of my own shit to deal with.

  “See you around,” he said.

  A statement, something you just said. I hoped so. I didn’t fancy seeing him around anytime soon. Reckon I’d slit my wrists if in his company for too long.

  “Yes. Maybe you will.” That answer should be okay. Not a confirmation or a rejection.

  * * * *

  Ribena in hand, I did the usual and lay my head against the back of my chair and closed my eyes.

  The day Mags and Scott returned from their holiday was kind of bittersweet. Though I’d wished they would come home during the times when I’d scared myself shitless during the night, the prospect of seeing them as the time drew nearer had my mind going the other way.

  I sat on the front doorstep. The hot sun beat down on top of my head. I’d finished all the bottles of water the previous night. No school today, it being a Saturday, so I couldn’t skip to the toilets and drink the disgusting water from the tap.

  By lunchtime, the scrawny kid, who lived opposite us, got called in. He came back out with jam on his cheeks and a breadcrumb latched to his lip. My tummy rumbled.

  The kid played marbles on the pavement.

  He looked up at me every so often but jerked his gaze away when he caught me watching. He sang to himself.

  I had no idea how long the kid shoved at those marbles, how many times they clicked against one another. I could tell this kid was well looked after. His white T-shirt was white, not a shitty grey, and the sleeves had a perfect crease where they’d been ironed. His navy-blue shorts had the same iron line down the fronts, and he had on branded trainers. Lucky sod. Dark-brown hair cut by a barber, no doubt about that; every strand seemed exactly the same length.

  Bet he didn’t walk round stinking of piss.

  “You wanna play marbles?” he said.

  I blinked, my mind in that faraway place where hunger and thirst didn’t affect me. My dry tongue and rumbly guts made themselves known then, came back with a vengeance.

  “Uh, yeah, all right.”

  I got up off that doorstep and walked nonchalantly over to him. “Hey, I’ve seen you at school and out here and stuff but, what’s your name?”

  “Peter Brand.”

  “Oh, right. Mine’s Wayne.”

  “Cool.”

  “Hot out here. I’m well thirsty.” I sat on the pavement beside him, small loose stones digging into my arse.

  “Before we play a game of marbles,” he said, “you go and get a drink at your house, I’ll go and get a drink at my house, then we can play. Best out of three.”

  “Can’t,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Locked myself out. Mag… My mum and stepdad went shopping. They’ll be back soon. I can’t get in and get a drink, see.”

  Peter reached out a well-fed arm and tapped me on my skinny one. “S’all right. I’ll get you one.”

  Standing in his kitchen, it was obvious to me that my house wasn’t what would be deemed posh. I’d never really put much thought into how we lived, unless I counted the time I’d seen my aunt’s house, but the richly varnished wooden cupboards, complete with what looked like expensive gold-coloured handles, had me questioning my own existence.

  A dishwasher hummed through its cycle. A fridge with a door that appeare
d to be brand-new gleamed with whiteness. A sink under the window with a single-arm mixer tap, not like the stainless-steel pair we had, had me thinking of my ‘new best friend’, as two round knobs sat on either side at the base of the tap and—

  “What d’you want to drink?” Peter asked.

  “Water’s fine,” I said and shuddered at the thought of water coming out of that tap.

  “You sure, because we’ve got Coke and orangeade.”

  “Coke?” The sting of Dad’s memory poked at my eyes.

  “Yeah, Coke.”

  “Umm, nah. Haven’t had a Coke since my dad died.”

  “Really? Wow. What about orangeade then. Or Ribena?”

  Oh. My. Lord. I’d get to try Ribena. The advertisements for it were everywhere, on TV, on the sides of busses. I’d wanted to try some for so long.

  “Ribena, please.”

  “Two glasses coming right up.”

  I laughed. This kid was a riot.

  I’ll never forget my first taste of Ribena. Heaven, really. I could have drank it all day. As it was, that first glass went down and hardly touched the sides.

  A woman I assumed to be Peter’s mum came into the kitchen. She took an apron from a hook behind the door and placed it round her waist. I thought only cooks on TV used aprons, didn’t realise real people owned them, too. She smoothed her unruly brown curls from her forehead, only for them to flop right back down again.

  “Oh! That’s nice. You’ve brought a friend in to play,” she said and smiled.

  “Nah, Mum,” Peter said. “We’re going back out to play marbles.”

  “Righty ho. Away with you, then. I’ve got cakes to bake.”

  “Cakes? What kind? Can we have butterfly cakes?” he said.

  Butterfly cakes? I stood like a fish out of water, absurd tears pricking the backs of my eyes.

  Peter’s mum laughed. “Oh, all right then. Butterfly cakes coming right up!”

  So that’s where he got that saying from.

  Peter jumped about on the spot, whooped, and flung himself at his mum.

  That sight stung.

  * * * *

  No sooner had we got into the first game of marbles, Scott and Mags pulled up in the car.

  “Hey, your folks are back from the shops.”

  The sound of car doors slamming jangled my nerves, and my heart picked up speed. Pulse throbbing in my throat, I wished Scott and Mags away again, just long enough for me to play the best out of three.

  “Wayne! Come on over here!” Scott.

  How I hated that voice.

  “Better go,” I said. “See you around?”

  Please say yes, please be my friend.

  “Yeah.”

  Scott bellowed again. “Come on, fuckhead!”

  I stood and peered down at Peter. He didn’t look up at me. He continued playing lone marbles, his bottom lip jutting out. I skipped across the street like I didn’t have a care in the world and followed Scott and Mags into the house.

  Mags dropped her suitcase on the carpet. It teetered and toppled onto its side. “Ah, fuck it. I’ll pick it up later.”

  Scott plunked down on the sofa. “Miss me, Wayne?”

  I nodded, lost in the middle of the room like it was an alien place and I just didn’t belong.

  “What did you get up to? Nothing, I hope,” Mags said.

  Scott’s warning glare brought a lump of unease to my throat.

  “I’ve been good.”

  “Doesn’t seem so to me. You got out of the shed for one thing. I was hoping the authorities would wonder where you were, come looking for you, and take you into care.” Mags flopped onto the sofa next to Scott. “Ah, we had the greatest time. And guess what the best part was?”

  I shrugged. Stared at them and tried to keep hatred from appearing on my face.

  “You weren’t there!”

  Mags and Scott roared with laughter. Anger boiled in my guts. I clenched my jaw, blinked rapidly, scrunched my toes in an attempt to reroute my emotions. I waited until they’d stopped laughing. Busied myself with diverting my anger away from them and on to the sofa.

  “Shit. He’s staring again. Always bloody staring,” Mags said.

  “That’s because he’s a weirdo,” Scott shouted.

  They curled up with laughter again.

  Let them laugh.

  * * * *

  I waited until they went to bed, until time and tiredness washed over them and their snores sailed into my room.

  I didn’t want to climb out of bed but padded downstairs anyway. The air in the house smelled musty. Mags had thrown open the windows when she’d finally stopped tittering earlier.

  The windows hadn’t been open for long enough. A dusty, dirty smell lingered. I swallowed and went into the kitchen, rooting round in the odds-and-sods drawer. I dared not switch on the light. I closed my fingers over the handle of a Stanley knife, gripped it against my palm, and walked back into the living room.

  The sofa loomed out of the semi-darkness. A monster, it represented every upset Scott and Mags had rained down on me. I imagined the pair of them as that sofa and lunged forward, hacked and slashed and murdered the damn thing.

  I flung myself on the floor, still gripping the blade, and cried.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A swift kick to the kidneys brought me out of a deep sleep. I opened my eyes, and as soon as I registered the sight of the patterned brown living room carpet, smelled the dustiness of it, I realised my mistake.

  “You fucking little bastard.” Mags.

  Another kick to my kidney, and another to my guts. Too many kicks to count struck my body; a pointy-toed shoe—Mag’s stilettos.

  “We leave you for one week, one week, with food and shelter, and this is how you repay us?”

  Mags must have flung herself down beside me—I’d closed my eyes seconds previously and curled into the foetal position. She punched and slapped at me in a mad frenzy. Each blow registered, the pain bloomed, and I sailed off into Nuttersville where nothing hurt.

  I had no idea how long that beating lasted, just that I came to when Mags’ screech sounded far away—the kitchen maybe?—when the click of her lighter cracked like a brittle bone, when Scott’s voice yammered into my ears, close, so close his lips brushed the hairs on my ears.

  “Oh. You’ve been such a bad little fuckhead. So bad. What shall we do with you, eh?”

  I bunched my eyes tighter, lingered between reality and Nuttersville and awaited another battering.

  It didn’t come.

  I listened to Scott haul himself up, imagined him standing beside me, looking down, saw him sneer in my mind’s eye, his yellowed teeth bared in a smile so sinister that it’d be the scariest thing I ever saw should I open my eyes. But I didn’t open my eyes, didn’t want to see that smile, those eyes.

  The step-slip-step of his footsteps shuffled out of the living room to the kitchen.

  Scott and Mags whispered, such low tones, but I made out what they said.

  “What the hell am I going to do with that kid, Scott? He’s mental. Who the hell trashes a sofa? I’m going to take him to see the doctor. Reckon he needs some kind of therapy.”

  “No! No need for doctors. He’s just a kid, Mags. Does some naughty shit, but I don’t think he’s mental.”

  “But the sofa. Nigh on brand new, and he’s wrecked it. He hasn’t been right since his dad died. What about fostering him out?”

  “Mags! Are you serious? I know he’s a pain, but you’ve got to feel something for him. He’s your kid.”

  “Well, all right, then. I care about him a bit. Satisfied?”

  “Look,” Scott said. “Let me deal with him. I’ll take him out to the shed and get him to help me put the bed away, and maybe he’ll talk to me. Open up. What d’you reckon? Besides, I need to check you haven’t broken anything. That was quite a kicking you gave him.”

  Another bone-cracking sound—she’d die of lung cancer, that one—an exhalation, then a tug on
the filter so fierce Mags’ lips squeaked.

  “What will I do if he’s got broken bones?”

  “I don’t know, Mags. I’ll think of something, if and when I find any, all right?”

  “All right.”

  “Good girl. Now, go up in the bedroom drawer and count out how much money we’ve got left. Should be enough there to buy a cheap sofa. I’ll deal with the kid.”

  * * * *

  The odour in the shed welcomed me, seemed more like home than the house did. I wished, while hobbling back in there on pain-filled legs, that I hadn’t complained about staying there for the past week. I just hadn’t realised how lucky I’d been. They said you didn’t miss things until they were gone.

  They seem to know a lot. Clever bastards.

  The flimsy catch clacked into place as the shed door closed behind me. I stood facing the camp bed and focused my gaze on the wood-slatted wall.

  “So,” Scott said. “What shall we do with you, eh?”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and a slight shimmy of fear wended down my spine. “I don’t know.”

  Step-slip-step. Closer. “Are you sorry for what you did?”

  Obstinacy reared its head. “No.”

  “Well!” Step-slip-step. “I’ll just have to make you sorry, won’t I?”

  Shrug.

  “Get undressed. I need to check you for broken bones.” Scott sniffed. “On second thought, get back in the house and have a shower, get that crap out of your arsehole.”

  I turned, walked past Scott and out of the shed, into the house.

  Looking back on that time of my life made me realise why my mind conjured up Barb crapping herself and me helping her clean up in the shower.

  Barb had been lucky. I didn’t have anyone to help me get clean.

  * * * *

  Jen’s office was at the end of a long corridor. Each door had a plaque on it, and on each plaque was a different name. White doors, blue plaques, silver letters.

  I was halfway down the corridor, and Jen’s door opened wide. A guy walked out. His eyebrows, thick black fuckers they were, met in the middle. Mags used to say you couldn’t trust someone who only had one eyebrow. He loped up the corridor, hefting up an obviously dodgy leg. He came abreast of me and peered down, rubbery lips morphing into a leering grin.