Never Leaves Me

by C J Morrow

  It was one of those chilly days between Christmas and New Year so there was no one else about; we were hanging around the swings, taking it in turns to push each other. I went high because Stephen was big and strong, he complained that I was a pathetic pusher because I was so small. It was our constant jibe at one another – he was too big, I was too small - but it was always in good fun.

  ‘You’ll need to develop good pushing muscles if you are going to take your children to the park,’ he said as I pushed him inadequately.

  ‘I haven’t got any children. Duh.’ I’d yanked the seat from beneath him and he almost fell off.

  ‘And you’ll have to be more careful. Killer mother.’

  ‘Shut up.’ My fifteen-year-old self didn’t want to talk about having children. I was still a child myself.

  ‘Just saying.’

  ‘Well don’t.’

  ‘I want a big family,’ he said, evidently not shutting up. ‘Four kids, maybe more.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, cos then, if it doesn’t work out between me and my wife, at least the kids will have each other.’

  ‘You and your wife. Listen to you. Who’s going to marry you?’

  ‘If you can grow a bit, you can.’

  I thumped him on the back and ran off. ‘Like hell,’ I shouted back.

  He soon caught up with me, his strides twice mine. ‘That hurt.’

  ‘It was meant to. Why would I marry you?’

  He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘You’re my best friend,’ he said.

  ‘Round here,’ I added. ‘You’re mine too. But not at school, obviously. I’ve got best friends at school.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Well then.’ I didn’t really know what I meant by that. It was all a bit cringey; we both felt awkward. We walked on in silence, heading for home; it was already starting to get dark.

  ‘You’re lucky, you’ve got Mads.’ He stood with his hand on our garden gate, pushed it open to let me in. ‘If your parents ever split up, you’d have each other.’

  ‘I’m so glad he’s found the one.’ I really am happy for him. I really am.

  ‘Yes. Me too.’ Sally starts looking around for her handbag. ‘Time I was off, I think.’

  When my tea arrives, I don’t have much appetite; I’m too full of cheeseburger.

  I try my first, almost unaided trip to the bathroom, it goes well for a first try. I’ve been told that I must be able to do these things before I can go home. I’ve also learnt that if I don’t manage them in the next few days I can go to the rehab-clinic. Sally told me that is where the old people who have falls go; it doesn’t really appeal to me, so I’m determined to do everything I can here. I’m desperate to go home. Desperate to sleep in my own bed.

  The medical staff don’t seem too worried about my left eye not opening, as long as the right one works. They think it will improve in time.

  I even manage to get myself into bed. All this sitting or lying around is tiring.

  I’m just dozing off when Robin’s voice stirs me. I don’t have the energy to even open my good eye.

  ‘I hear Stephen paid you a visit this morning.’ He places such emphasis on Stephen’s name that I can tell he’s irritated.

  Well, I’m irritated too. Irritated because Robin couldn’t take time off work to support me. He knew I was dreading the removal of the staples; he could have taken the morning off.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘he came with me when they took the staples out of my head.’

  There’s silence for a moment.

  ‘Couldn’t your mum come?’

  ‘No. She had an emergency dentist appointment. Sally couldn’t come either, so she sent Stephen. Good of him to spare the time, wasn’t it?’

  I wait for Robin to respond. He won’t like the way I’ve just spoken to him but I’m the sick one here.

  ‘Did he bring the McDonald’s too?’

  Caught out. ‘How do you know about that?’ I thought we’d been quite discreet.

  ‘There’s a fry on the floor.’ He sighs. ‘You shouldn’t eat that, you know. It’s very fattening.’

  ‘Apparently, I need fattening up.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  I can’t respond to that. I don’t want to have the weight conversation again. Yes, I have put on weight since we married. But I don’t think I’m fat. Robin prides himself on having the same thirty-two-inch waist at forty-two as he did at twenty-two – not that I knew him then.

  ‘My mum’s looking thin,’ I say, diverting his attention from me. ‘I suppose it’s due to everything’s that’s happened. Mads. Me.’

  ‘Yes. It doesn’t seem to have affected your dad’s belly though.’

  ‘That’s mean.’ I attempt to turn away from him, but I’m tired and stiff, so he still has my left ear.

  ‘True though.’

  ‘Did you find the letter yet?’

  ‘Letter?’

  ‘The one redirected from work. The one Dad thinks might be from Mads.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you had a really good look?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘You haven’t mixed it up with the papers on your desk?’

  ‘No.’

  I don’t bring up that Mum has looked on his desk; he must know, he would have to give her permission, unlock the door, but no point in annoying him about that.

  ‘You know this bullying theory?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did that come from?’

  He hesitates for a minute. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Only the school won’t confirm it and well, where did you hear it?’

  ‘Not sure. I must have overheard it.’ He pauses. ‘Actually, a name was mentioned. Chloe, or something like that.’

  ‘Chloe? But Chloe was Mads’s best friend.’ I’ve met Chloe at Mum and Dad’s when she’s come for tea with Mads. She’s lovely. Admittedly, it’s been a while since I last saw them together, but…

  ‘You know what teenage girls are like.’ He gives something that sounds like a laugh. ‘Falling out with each other, usually over some boy.’

  Now it’s my turn not to answer. I can barely remember my teenage years; I don’t think I was a typical teenager. I was only fifteen when I met Robin. He probably does know more about teenagers than I do; he teaches them every day.

  When I’m well I will be having a word with Chloe. I owe it to Mads and Mum and Dad to find out the truth.

  ‘I need to get off soon. I’ll pop by tomorrow morning, early.’ His chair scrapes.

  ‘Already?’

  ‘Yes. Another pupil.’

  ‘Really. Can’t you take a break?’

  ‘Well, you know, bills to pay.’

  ‘Not really. I’m sure I will still be getting paid. I’m on sick leave.’

  ‘Okay. Well, work helps keep my mind off all this.’ He gives me a quick peck on the forehead, just as the door opens.

  ‘Hello.’ It’s Mum, sounding cheerier than I would expect after an extraction. Dad’s cough confirms he’s here too.

  ‘I was just going,’ Robin says. ‘You can have your daughter all to yourselves.’ I hear the door close behind him.

  No one comments. Which is just as well. Chairs scrape as Mum and Dad sit down.

  ‘How are you, Mum?’

  ‘Not too bad.’ She has a slight lisp. ‘Better than it aching.’

  With great effort, I pull myself up the bed and open my eye. For a second, I think my left eye opens; before closing just as rapidly. Mum’s face looks puffy and her smile is lop-sided. Dad just looks tired.

  ‘I hear you’ve been eating illegal food,’ Dad says, forcing a grin.

  ‘Yeah. It was Sally’s fault.’ I laugh. ‘It was good though. Actually, there’s a fry on the floor, can you find it and bin it.’

  Mum gets up and looks around the room, Dad checks under the bed. They find nothing. Robin must have disposed of it.

  After I’ve given
them an update on my progress and we’ve talked a bit about Mum’s tooth, Dad inspects my head.

  ‘Not too bad at all,’ he pronounces.

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t as bad as I thought having them out either. Stephen held my hands. That helped.’

  Mum and Dad exchange the briefest of glances, but I don’t miss it.

  ‘He’s a good lad, Stephen.’ Dad nods.

  ‘He is,’ Mum adds.

  ‘It was good of him; you couldn’t come, Sally got held up and Robin couldn’t be here either.’

  Mum pats my hand. Dad looks away. Are they embarrassed on Robin’s behalf?

  We fall silent. We’re all tired.

  ‘Maybe you should read us a bit of Jane Austen, Mum.’ I raise my voice an octave in an attempt to sound jolly.

  ‘After what you said last time. I don’t think so. Anyway, I don’t have the book with me anymore and I’m slurring.’

  ‘Okay. I was just joking anyway.’

  Dad yawns. ‘Anyone mind if I go and find myself a coffee?’

  ‘No, you go, love.’ Mum pats his arm as he gets up.

  ‘Either of you want anything?’

  Coffee. That would probably perk me up. I consider it for a moment. ‘No thanks,’ Mum and I chorus.

  ‘So, you had a nice time with Stephen.’

  ‘Not really, Mum. I was having lumps of metal pulled out of my head.’

  ‘Well, yes. I meant it was nice to see him?’

  ‘Yeah. It was. He’s such an old friend. I can’t remember the last time I saw him…’

  ‘Madeleine’s funeral.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Not that I can remember much of that. I meant before that. You know, meaningful, proper old catch-up time. Did you know he’s got a girlfriend here, that’s why he’s moving back to the UK?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Have you met her?’

  ‘Yes. Quite a bit.’

  ‘What’s she like? Is she nice. Of course, she’s nice. He deserves someone lovely, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He does.’

  ‘It’s good that someone’s having a good time in all this mess.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s having a good time, Juliette. He’s very worried about you.’

  ‘Tell him not to be. He should be enjoying himself with his girlfriend. He’s buying a house here now he’s sold his in Canada. And he’s got his new job to look forward to.’

  ‘Did he tell you he’s delayed starting it until you’re better?’

  ‘What? No. Why?’

  Mum shrugs and looks away. I’m glad Robin isn’t here listening to this, he’d be annoyed about Stephen.

  ‘Actually, Mum, while you’re here on your own, I wanted to ask you something.’

  Mum leans in as though she’s going to hear a secret.

  ‘Since I’ve been here, have I had a period?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what the staff said, that I hadn’t, I mean. Said it could be delayed due to the trauma. I just hope I don’t have one until I get home. It won’t be particularly easy then, I’m not that mobile, but at least it’ll be more private.’ I laugh and smile, more to reassure myself than Mum.

  Mum looks away, it could be embarrassment – Mum doesn’t like talking about bodily functions in too much detail – but there’s something else.

  ‘Mum, am I okay?’ I’m worried now.

  ‘You’re fine, darling.’ Her false cheeriness and lop-sided smile are betrayed by the look in her eyes?

  ‘No, tell me. Am I okay?’

  She doesn’t get the chance to answer because Dad bursts in.

  ‘We’re going to have to leave, I’m afraid. Sorry Juliette. But there’s been a break in at the school and I have to go.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Mum jumps up and snatches her bag from the floor. She moves too quickly and the phrase saved by the bell echoes in my head.

  ‘Oh, right. I hope everything’s okay.’

  ‘It’ll be some little devil playing silly beggars.’ Dad sighs; he’s used to this and takes it in his stride, but the police insist he comes and inspects the damage, which is usually a broken window.

  They’re kissing me and they’re gone.

  And I’m left wondering if I have more injuries that anyone is telling me about. I pat my stomach for any tell-tale signs, any pain, any lumps or bumps, but I find nothing.

  Twelve

  It would be ironic if, after all my sadness about Robin not being able to father children, I end up barren too.

  Mum’s face when I asked her if I was okay spoke volumes, even if her words said the opposite. Why has nobody told me? Dad told me straight about my injuries when I first came round. Maybe he couldn’t bear to talk about it, or maybe he was too embarrassed. Or maybe he thought it was pointless to mention it, they already know that I will never make them grandparents. But surely the staff would have told me. Am I just being silly? Fearful for no reason?

  I remember when I told Mum about Robin’s sterility. Or rather, when she guessed.

  She’d bumped into an old work colleague who was out with her daughter and new born grandson.

  ‘You should have seen him, tiny. Tiny. Prem, apparently. But so cute.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ I said it with a smile on my face and hoped the conversation would end there. ‘Do you want me to help with tea?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. It’s in the oven. Fish pie. He only weighed three pounds.’ She wasn’t going to be distracted. ‘Can you imagine that? But he’s a healthy six now. Still looks tiny. Head like this.’ She formed her hands into a little ball to show how small his head was.

  ‘Shall I lay the table?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks. Her daughter, Zara, I think her name is, said if we hadn’t been in the middle of Asda I could have held him. Ah, I’d have loved that.’ Mum’s face went all gooey.

  I didn’t respond as I rattled around in the cutlery drawer for knives and forks.

  ‘His name is Bryn. His dad is Welsh. He wanted a proper Welsh name for his son.’

  I turned away from her and concentrated on the precise placing of the mats on the table. I wished she would shut up.

  ‘There’s not a hair on his head. Not one. He’s bald. The baby, I mean. Like a cute little egg. He yawned when I was looking at him. So sweet. And his little hands were creeping out of the covers. Tiny little nails. Reminds me of you. And Madeleine.’ Her voice was soft and, I suspected, she was beaming, but I couldn’t look at her.

  Shut up.

  ‘Is Mads upstairs?’ I’d finished laying the table and wanted to escape.

  ‘Yes. In her room. Probably on that phone. Not sure that was such a clever idea.’ Mum tutted but I was glad she was off the baby monologue.

  Mads had been denied a mobile phone despite declaring that it wasn’t fair, all her friends had one and she was a bit of a freak because she didn’t. Dad was against it; he’d seen the effects of mobiles on teenagers, the cyber-bullying, the other horrors, but Mum had relented. She’d persuaded him it might be safer now that Mads went to school on the bus on her own. Mads became the proud owner of new mobile given to her on her twelfth birthday. I liked her having a phone too, she sent me funny little text messages throughout the day and forwarded the odd amusing picture or video – she knew better than to send me anything risqué, Mum and Dad had sworn me to tell them if she did. I’d also told Mads that if she ever encountered anything dodgy to tell me first, and I’d help her deal with it; Mum and Dad would have just taken the phone away. Fortunately, Mads had never had to come to me.

  As expected when I crept upstairs I heard Mads laughing on the phone.

  ‘Oh, Clo,’ she said, ‘that’s so cool. You’re so cool.’

  I popped my head around her door.

  ‘Oh, got to go, my big sis is here.’ She ended the call and smiled at me. ‘Hiya.’

  ‘Hi.’ I slumped down next to her on the bed, my old bed. She’d moved into my old room by then, but Mum had kept it empty for five years, in
case I ever wanted to come back. Dad had convinced her I wouldn’t. It had been redecorated for Mads. ‘Having fun with your phone? What’s so cool?’ The instant I asked I wished I hadn’t, I sounded like Mum when she was fishing for information.

  ‘Just some stuff at school. You know.’ Mads gave me an innocent smile. A smile that also let me know that’s all I was getting.

  I could barely remember school, never mind being twelve. What self-respecting twelve-year-old wants to tell their nearly twenty-five-year-old sister all their secrets? However innocent. It dawned on me then that I was twice Mads’s age. She probably thought I’d been sent up to spy on her.

  ‘Is tea ready? I’m starving. What is it?’ She cuddled into me, maybe to let me know she didn’t really think I was prying.

  ‘Nearly. It’s fish pie.’

  ‘Cool.’ Her phone pinged and she picked it up. After smiling at it, she showed me a silly video doing the rounds – a dancing chicken. I laughed with her and didn’t tell her I had seen it on Facebook two weeks previously.

  We were still laughing when Mum called us down for tea.

  After tea, Mads disappeared up to her room, ostensibly to do her homework, more likely to play on her phone. Dad was working on some grand scheme for his school and Mum and I were alone in the kitchen again, clearing up.

  ‘How’s things?’ Mum said.

  ‘What things?’

  ‘You, work,’ she paused, ‘Robin.’ She said his name the way she always did, as though it hurt her to say it.

  ‘Fine. Good.’

  ‘Good.’ She dropped a plate into the dishwasher. ‘Only you seemed a bit upset earlier.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ My reply was a little too sharp, too quick.

  ‘When I was talking about the baby.’

  I shrugged and turned away, picked up a plate and went to the bin to scrape it.

  ‘Only, you know, I’m here if you ever want to talk.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I prayed for her to change the subject. I didn’t want to talk about babies, not when I would never have one of my own. I’d known for months that we would never have our own family, but I hadn’t told anyone. Not anyone.