by C J Morrow
‘You cheeky…’ my mum shook her head.
‘I’m over age. Nothing illegal or wrong.’ I shrugged. I was in the right. Mum and Dad couldn’t tell me who I could love, or not.
‘It’s wrong.’ Dad shook his head. ‘And while you live in this house and we support you, I prefer that you don’t see him again. He’s far too old for you.’
‘Fine.’ Oh, I was so confident. ‘I can move in with Robin.’
‘No,’ Mum yelled and started to cry.
I expected a big row, I expected some drama. At the very least I wanted to stamp up the stairs and slam my bedroom door. I was disappointed. Apart from Mum’s barely audible snivelling, there was nothing. Just three people sitting in a room looking at each other.
Dad stood up. ‘Think about it,’ he said. ‘Promise me you won’t do anything hasty.’ Perhaps he’d had a vision of me stomping up the stairs and packing my clothes before rushing off to Robin’s.
‘Okay.’ I’d looked down at my shoes, my stupid school shoes.
Dad took Mum’s hand and they walked out of the room in silence before disappearing into the kitchen; the door closing softly behind them.
I went up to my room and pulled off my uniform, and climbed back into bed; I couldn’t even think about going to school. An hour later and I’d exchanged numerous texts with Robin. He said he would pick me up anytime I wanted, even if it was in the middle of the night.
A soft knocking on the door made me jump. No doubt Mum would be sitting on my bed soon, begging me not to go.
‘Yeah,’ I called.
The door opened and I waited for Mum.
But it was Mads who tiptoed in – she was half dressed. She pulled the blankets back and climbed into bed with me. She cuddled in tight and, without thinking I wrapped by arms around her.
‘Don’t go. I’ll miss you.’ That was all she said, then she sniffed.
I thought of Mads, her warm little body snuggled up to mine, and I didn’t go. At least not then.
‘Well,’ Dad begins as he takes a deep breath. ‘You had swelling on the brain which was why you had to be sedated, drug induced coma, sedation, they called it. But you’re off all that now…’ his voice trails away.
‘Yes?’ I manage.
‘You have a broken leg, it’s quite bad, but they operated and,’ he pauses, ‘it will heal up with a bit of work. It’s pinned.’
What the hell did he mean by work? I’m about to try to ask but he cuts across me and continues.
‘Your arm is quite badly injured, but it’s flesh, no broken bones. They’ve done a graft, skin.’
‘And muscle,’ Mum chips in.
‘Yes. Of course.’ He stops and I hear Mum cough as though prompting him, but he doesn’t continue, so Mum takes over.
‘Then you acquired an infection, because you were lying down so long you developed pneumonia. But that’s better now. Oh, and you had a few broken ribs.’
What a state I am in.
‘Mess,’ I force out.
‘Yes, you were, darling.’ Mum rarely calls me darling. Mads is darling, I’m Juliette. ‘But the good news is your full body scan this morning shows a lot of improvement. And your eyes look so much better. They think you’ll be able to open them in a day or too.’
‘Good.’ It will be good to see people, to see the world again.
‘And they said, not to worry about not moving much yet, the swelling on the top of your spine is still subsiding, and that will take the pressure off and, well, it should all be just fine.’ Typical Mum, jolly in adversity; the flip side is that she’s usually miserable when everyone else is happy.
‘So, there we have it,’ Dad says. He is wearing his best headmaster’s reassuring persona.
‘Oh, and you’re not nearly so black and blue and puffy. You were unrecognisable, but not now.’ Mum pats my hand.
I concentrate hard and manage to move my index finger.
‘She moved. Brian. Her hand moved. She wriggled her finger. Well done. Well done. See, you’re already getting better.’
‘Yes.’ I wish I could manage more than one word, but even that is a struggle and I am feeling overwhelmed with tiredness again. But I’m pleased I managed to move my finger.
‘So, it’s all good news.’ Mum is convincing herself as much as me.
‘Yes.’
‘Sally was asking if she could come up and see you. Would that be okay?’
Sally? Ah, Sally. Mum’s best friend and next-door neighbour for most of my life. When I don’t answer immediately, Mum’s voice takes on a rushed, conciliatory tone.
‘She doesn’t have to come. If you’re not ready. There’s no rush. She just said she would. It’s all right, she can wait.’
‘No.’ I imagine Sally coming up with Mum, giving Mum some support while Dad’s at work. It cannot have been easy, all this, for any of them; Mum, Dad, Robin. I’m the lucky one really, I can’t remember anything. ‘Bring. Bring Sally.’ More than one word; I’m very pleased with myself. And exhausted.
‘I can bring Sally? Is tomorrow okay?’
‘Yes. Bring.’ I smile inside the mask. Another first.
‘I will. I will.’
Chairs scrape; Mum and Dad are preparing to leave. They’re making comments about the time, about how I need my rest and that Sue – they know her name – is waiting to sort me out for the night.
They’re leaning over me, kissing my not-so-puffy face and Dad is holding my hand and I manage to press my finger into his palm. He tells Mum and they’re both elated.
It’s only as he lets go of my hand that the biggest question occurs to me and as I blurt it out the fear engulfs me and tears escape from my locked eyes.
‘How? How happen?’
Five
I’ve known all along.
It wasn’t a dream. Those weren’t nightmares. But as Dad tells me how I hung upside down, held only by the seat belt, how I was pulled from the burning wreckage of my car, all I can wonder is how the hell I managed such a spectacular crash?
I’m crying now. Inside the mask snot dribbles into my mouth.
‘There was no other vehicle involved, Juliette. So that’s a good thing.’
I can’t answer, even though I can’t move, my whole body is wracked by sobs.
‘She asked about the accident.’ Dad is not talking to me, but Sue who’s obviously expressed concern about me.
‘Okay. Well, don’t worry, we’ll give her something.’ She’s ushering them out and they’re calling their goodbyes from a distance.
I bet they’re relieved to get away. I would be.
‘Come on, sweetie,’ Sue says. ‘You’re going to be just fine. And this isn’t the first time you’ve heard about the accident, is it? We have been telling you about it right from the start.’
Have they? I don’t remember. And even if that is true, so what?
‘Come on, sweetie. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep.’
‘I hear your parents upset you last night.’ Robin sounds annoyed.
‘No.’
‘That’s not what I hear.’
‘Not their fault. Shock.’
‘Well, maybe.’ He pauses. ‘You’re doing well with the speaking.’
‘Yes.’
I hear Jeff’s jolly voice as he approaches.
‘Here’s that bloody male nurse again. It’s so inappropriate.’
‘Don’t care.’ I’m surprised at myself, but I really don’t care. Everyone is looking after me, trying to get me well, so I’m grateful. I don’t think I’m in a position to be fussy.
‘Hi Jeff,’ Robin calls with jolly insincerity.
‘Hello, Juliette.’ Jeff’s voice is so cheerful. ‘How do you feel about having a go without the mask?’
‘Yes. Good.’
‘You know you’re doing so well. You’ve come on in leaps and bounds the last few days.’
‘Yes.’ Speaking is still such an effort.
Jeff starts fiddling with the mask
, muttering to himself and suddenly it’s off.
‘Just breathe normally.’
‘I am.’
If feels so good not have anything pressing on my face. I hadn’t realised quite how tight that mask was until it was removed. Jeff starts to wipe my face and rubs my cheeks. He wipes my eyes and lifts the lids. He smiles and I can see his smile quite clearly. I smile back.
‘Wonderful. You have a lovely smile.’ He lets my lids drop. ‘Did your mum bring a toothbrush up for you?’ I hear a drawer opening.
I’ve no idea whether Mum has brought me a toothbrush. I wonder why Robin couldn’t have done that. He’s gone quiet now that Jeff is attending to me.
Jeff starts cleaning my teeth. I can taste the toothpaste, strong and minty.
‘Do you think you can spit? Here, into this tray.’ He tips me forward and I try but all that comes out is a pathetic dribble. ‘Good try.’ I can hear the smile in his voice. ‘I’ll do it for you.’ Again, it’s like being at the dentist as Jeff sprays water into my mouth and suckers it out. I do feel a little more normal when he’s finished. ‘And a final flourish,’ he says, slicking Vaseline around my lips. ‘Lovely. I’ll be back later and we can try a drink. Yeah?’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He laughs before dragging tubing across my face and positioning something under my nostrils. ‘Just a little extra help, just a little bit of oxygen.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m going to put this call button here, in your hand. I know you can’t use it yet, but, well, you never know. We have seen movement in your fingers. See you later.’ And he’s gone. I like Jeff. And Sue.
‘Has he finished? Sorry, I can’t be in the same space as him. He’s like a black David Walliams. So in-yer-face. Anyway, I needed some air.’
‘Okay.’ That sounds harsh. I wish I could see Robin’s face. He seems angry with me as well as Jeff.
‘You do look better, though. I’ll give him that. He’s tidied you up.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
Robin doesn’t reply. I think he’s sulking.
I’m tired again; the slightest little thing exhausts me. I summon all my energy to speak.
‘How did I crash?’
I hear Robin’s sigh. I sense his body move in exasperation.
‘I don’t know, Juliette. You tell me.’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Probably just as well. Ugh, David Walliams is coming back.’ He waits until Jeff reaches us. ‘Hi Jeff.’ Robin’s voice is high and insincere, again.
‘Try a drink, Juliette. I’ve got a straw.’ Jeff’s voice is full of smiles.
I feel the straw on my lips, but I struggle to lock them around it. Jeff massages my face and together we succeed. I suck. I feel the liquid in my mouth. It’s nice. But I can’t swallow, even with Jeff massaging my throat.
‘Don’t worry, that’s normal. We’ll try again later.’
‘Idiot.’ Robin’s voice is so loud in my ear that Jeff must have heard.
‘Rude.’
‘Don’t worry, he’s gone.’
Robin’s voice continues but I don’t hear what he’s saying as I drift off again. I know this must be hard for him, he’s very protective of me. But, needs must and it’s not as if he can help me, he’s far too squeamish.
‘I don’t see any point in using condoms,’ I said, flinging the packet at him. We were in our bedroom; it was two weeks after the infertile revelation. ‘If you can’t give me a baby, why bother with these?’ I hated the rubbery smell and, secretly, I hoped he was wrong and that I might fall pregnant accidently.
Without speaking he swiped the packet up, pushed it into his bedside table drawer, pulled on his dressing gown and left the room.
I lay in bed looking at the ceiling. My bedside lamp was off, his was on. I rolled over to his side to switch it off. I inhaled the scent of him, I loved it, I loved him. Was it so unreasonable to want his baby? I felt nasty and cheated. He should have told me from the beginning that he couldn’t give me babies. But we’d never had that conversation.
After six years of marriage I had come to realise that there were many conversations we’d never had. He’d rarely talked about his parents, his family – and I’d never asked. His mother lived in Brazil and his father was dead, that was all he’d ever said about them. He didn’t seem to have friends, only work colleagues, and even those he mostly held in contempt.
Other than pupils he was tutoring, he never brought anyone home. I had convinced myself that once we moved to the right house, the executive house that Robin so desired – I didn’t care where we lived as long as I was with him – then he’d suddenly conjure up old friends, even family, maybe. But he hadn’t.
Despite the size of the house, and his private study, he liked me to be out when he had pupils round. He said it looked more professional. I didn’t mind. The polite animosity between Robin and my parents meant he rarely saw them. I used those two nights a week he tutored in our house to visit home, and Mads. We had our twice weekly girly giggles on those nights. I went straight from work, had tea with my family, it felt just like old times. It was easier without Robin’s scowl at the table. He’d never forgiven my parents for their objections to our wedding. I don’t think he ever would. And they’d never really forgiven him for taking me away.
I woke with a start; the TV was on downstairs and I’d dozed off on Robin’s side of the bed. It was the middle of the night.
Robin sat in his reclining chair, his feet up, the remote in his hand. As I entered the room he looked at me, but he didn’t return my smile.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, holding out the olive branch. ‘I was mean.’
‘You were.’
‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Maybe.’ He looked me up and down then turned back to the TV.
‘It’s just I don’t understand why we need condoms if…’ My voice trailed away as he turned his full gaze back to me, daring me to continue.
After staring at me, weighing me up, he simply said, ‘hygiene.’
‘Ah.’ That did explain it. He was very clean. I didn’t find it a problem; we just had rules about cleanliness that we’d never had in Mum and Dad’s house.
We had to change the bed twice weekly; always Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings. It wasn’t an onerous task, Robin always did it. And now that we had the lovely utility room complete with tumble dryer it wasn’t difficult to launder the sheets; Robin often did those himself. Other rules included dressing gowns laundered weekly, no wearing of t-shirts or tops more than once, and never, ever, ever re-wear socks or underwear. I’d once joked that it was unlikely that would happen anyway, but he reiterated that it must never happen.
In themselves, these were just basic things that most people did anyway, it was just that Robin was strict about these rules. He also insisted that whatever was left on the toilet roll – even if it was a nearly full – must be binned on Sunday evening. We must start the week off fresh. Towels were changed every other day. I didn’t mind these rules, often it felt as though we lived in a five-star hotel and it wasn’t as though the laundry was my sole responsibility, we shared it.
I had to accept his hygiene reason; we continued to use condoms even though we didn’t need to. I told myself there were worse things in the world to worry about, but a tiny little part of me wondered if he really was infertile.
‘What is that smell?’ Robin’s voice wakes me up. ‘It’s awful.’
‘What?’ I have been so deeply asleep that I struggle to wake up.
‘Can’t you smell it?’
I inhale as I wake, and then it hits me.
‘It’s shit.’ Robin says, in case I’m in any doubt.
‘Yes.’
‘And I think it’s you. Juliette, that’s disgusting.’
Oh no. He’s right. It is me. It’s horrible. I can feel it. I am sitting in it.
‘Where’s that bloody Jeff when he’s actually needed?’ Robin’s v
oice is far too loud. Instead of shouting, why doesn’t he go and find Jeff. ‘Press the buzzer.’
The buzzer? The call button. I can feel it in my hand; I have slept clutching it. I concentrate hard, so hard it’s painful. I push my thumb down but nothing happens.
‘Press it harder, Juliette.’
I try. I can’t. ‘You do it.’
‘No, you need to do it. You need to move. Press it harder. How will you manage when I’m not here if I do everything for you?’
I try and my thumb jerks against the button. I’ve pressed it.
‘Hey hun, did you press that button?’ Jeff takes the buzzer from my hand. ‘I think you did. Well done. And I think I know why.’ I hear the curtains being pulled around me.
‘Go,’ I say to Robin.
‘Don’t worry, I am. No desire to stay around for this, thank you very much. The sooner you’re recovered, Juliette, the better. Don’t think I’m going to wipe your arse when you come home.’
‘Charming.’
I start to cry. How can Robin be so mean? As if this isn’t demeaning and humiliating enough without him being nasty.
‘Don’t worry, hun. It’s normal. We’ll have you fresh as a daisy before your mum gets here.’
‘Please don’t speak,’ I say through tears. I don’t want any more words said, it just makes it worse.
Jeff is good, he soon has me cleaned up; he’s very thorough. There’s not an inch of my nether regions he hasn’t wiped down. I don’t know how he can do it. I don’t know how I will face him once my eyes open and I’m better. This is the ultimate cringe fest.
‘There you go. Just pop a clean pad on the bed and we’re done.’ He turns me to one side and slides something soft, yet crinkly under me. Bedcovers back on, curtains pulled back and he’s gone, I’m clean but the smell still lingers.
I wonder how many times that has happened? It doesn’t bear thinking about and I’m glad I can’t remember. For a moment, I wonder if I will remember this time. Probably.