by Deborah Bee
Which of course I did. Somehow Sarah understood right away. You know what, she didn’t even ask me about that black eye. Smart, huh? She just knew. And you know most grown-ups, when you talk to them about bullying, they think that the answer is to do something about the bully. But you know what, Sarah didn’t. ‘You can’t change people.’ That’s what she said. ‘You can’t change people, but you can change you.’ So we did this self-esteem class, which sounds odd for a teenager and a successful young woman, but at the time we thought it would be a bit of a laugh and I think Sarah was just trying to get me to be a bit more confident, you know.
Anyhow, Sarah said we should try it once and if we didn’t like it we didn’t have to go back, did we? She said I didn’t believe in myself enough. She said I’d spent too much time listening to conversations in hallways and worrying about stuff that wasn’t even my fault and shooting my mouth off at school or jutting out my chin to be in the in crowd. And she said at my age I should be having fun, not getting my new Nokia with an HD camera nicked. At first, I definitely thought she was doing me this like massive favour coming with me. I mean, I was sure she had loads of like important stuff to be doing, like for work and shit. But when we turned up, she didn’t pull that thing that grown-ups do, when they kind of talk over your head and pull faces, like they think you suddenly can’t even fucking see that they’re pulling faces. Sarah said I was her friend, and that we were coming together to find out more about the course. And the lady that ran it, Fleur she was called, which Sarah said is flower in French, which is like totally cool and if ever I have a baby girl, I shall call her Fleur cos it sounds posh. Anyway, she was just really nice, and so were the other ladies, apart from one, Belinda, who was just seriously nuts. So there were seven of us, eight if you include this Fleur woman. And we sat in a circle on these beige plastic chairs that had pen scribble on, and talked, and even though Sarah and I didn’t say anything much, and it could’ve been totally embarrassing and everything, actually it wasn’t. You had to say things like what your best friend meant to you. Obviously I talked about Clare. I told them how we had the same hair and the same lip gloss and the same platforms, so we looked like twins. And then you had to say what your best friend had that you didn’t have. And the person you most admired in the world. Sarah said the person she most admired in the world was her sister, because she had the courage to speak out. And I said that my best friend was Clare and what she had that I didn’t have was half my clothes and everybody laughed, which I thought was unfair to start with cos she did actually have half my fucking clothes but then, after I had blushed quite a bit, I realised that it was actually quite funny so I laughed too and then everyone else laughed more. Then they did this thing where you had to say what you saw when you looked in the mirror. Not just your reflection obvs. It was like deeper than that. They actually handed out plastic mirrors, like them ones you get in the hairdressers when they show you the back of your hair, and it was so weird. I think in general people think they look much worse than they actually fucking do. They like obsess about stuff like their hair or their eyebrows and there’s like nothing wrong with their fucking hair or their fucking eyebrows, but they can barely go out of the fucking house. It’s mental. Frankly the Belinda woman shouldn’t have even brought up the moustache thing in the first place, because once you’d seen it you couldn’t take your fucking eyes off it. And the woman, Lucy (Lucy with the long red hair not the short blond hair), she said that when she looked in the mirror she saw an afraid person. She said that she is afraid of everything. She said that she washes her hands over seventy times a day. She said that she can’t go to the dentist in case the dentist has got germs on his gloves or on his pointer thing that he puts in your teeth. She said that if a murderer was running towards her with a knife her first reaction wouldn’t be ‘Don’t stab me!’, it would be ‘Where was that knife last because I bet it’s not clean.’ I had to start coughing at that point. People are so fucking weird. Lucy said did we think she was weird, and we all shook our heads. And then Fleur said, actually, it was a bit weird but at least Lucy knew it was weird and isn’t that usually half the problem? And we all laughed and agreed that it was, perhaps, a bit weird but, you know, don’t worry about it. And then she felt better, which, let’s face it, is weird too. Anyway, it was fun. Fleur said that by the end of the course we would be the ‘mistresses of our own destiny’. I said to Sarah on the way home that I doubted that for Lucy. She was afraid of her own shadow. And that Belinda would be more of a master with that moustache. Sarah said she thought she’d like to go again next week and I said I would too. I sort of felt taller, you know? Not actually literally taller. Oh, I don’t know. That sounds totally fucking lame.
Anyway, the day after Sarah got mugged, my mum said the community centre was all roped off so no free lunches for the homeless, and no mirrors for afraid people. And the road would be closed all day and the park too. And it was. There were lines of policemen in fluorescent tops walking all over the grass looking for something. My mum said she didn’t know what they were looking for but, whatever it was, it would be evidence.
I told her about the drug smuggler in the corner and my mum said she shouldn’t have been allowed out of prison, not for anything. And I said that if Billy OD’d she’d insist on being at the hospital, whatever. And she said that was an utterly ridiculous point to make because she was not a drug smuggler and Billy was not going to OD.
As soon as we got home I switched on the TV and basically I’ve done fuck all, all day, except watch crime bulletins. My mum rang Mrs Backhouse who said I should take as long as I like – which probably means she’s just glad to get her class sizes down for a bit. I pretended to read my course book but FML what’s Jane Eyre when you have got an actual drama on your fucking doorstep. A ‘drama unfolding’ they said on the TV. I keep forgetting that Sarah isn’t here and keep looking out the window for her car. And every time the phone rings I jump right out of my skin. What if she dies? What if she fucking dies? What am I gonna do then?
9
Sarah
Day One – 10 p.m.
Sometimes it’s dark and silent. Totally silent. That’s when I’ve disappeared completely. That’s when I start to dream. And, honestly, the dreaming is better than the darkness, until I wake up. And then it’s dark again until suddenly the sound snaps on again. And I can hear everything around me.
It must be late. The sounds from the ward that I’d got used to during the day have gone. I don’t think anyone is here. There’s no rustling or quiet chatting. Just the hums and beeps and wheezes of the machines that are keeping me alive.
I can’t have been here more than a day or so. I’m trying to piece it all together but sometimes my dreams are getting confused with the reality. I know I’m in hospital. I think I’m in a coma. I think that if I try really hard, I should be able to get my brain working again. I know I’ve got to try to communicate but if no one is watching me, no one is trying to find out if I’m still in here, how are they going to know?
And then I hear a sigh. Very close to my ear. And the sound of fabric on fabric as if someone is uncrossing and crossing their legs. And a foot squeaking across the floor. And then another sigh. Then the tapping begins.
Tap, tap-tap, tap. Tap, tap-tap, tap.
It’s slow. It sounds like plastic on metal.
Tap, tap-tap, tap. Tap, tap-tap, tap.
I don’t know why I suddenly feel afraid, but I do. I’m trying to understand. I’ve been mugged. I had a husband. A husband. He is now dead. He was killed. Maybe he was murdered. Maybe they were trying to murder me too. They’ve certainly done a pretty good job.
Tap, tap-tap, tap.
I hear the door shoot open.
‘Excuse me!’
It’s a startled woman’s voice. She sounds nervous.
‘What?’
A man’s voice. Angry. Arrogant.
‘You’re not supposed to be here! Who are you?’
There are footsteps.<
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‘I’m sorry but you have to leave.’
‘What do you mean, I have to leave?’
‘Who are you?’
‘I met you yesterday, remember? I’m the brother.’
‘The brother? Oh, you. It’s you. Well . . .’
‘I didn’t leave my number. I thought I’d just pop back, when it was quieter, you know. Look, I don’t want to get in the way. I know how hard you ladies have to work. All hours. Look at you. You must be exhausted.’
The brother. Sounds like a smooth talker.
‘Well, that’s OK. Thank you. I’m sure it will be OK.’
It’s the one who wears the leggings.
‘It’s just you have to sign in and stuff. You know, security. We can’t have just anyone pitching up, can we? Plus you probably know the husband has died. So, could be a murder enquiry. The police will be all over us.’
‘I did hear about Adam. Poor chap. Good bloke.’
‘But we mustn’t talk about that in here. In case she hears. You know.’
‘What, you mean she’s still in there? I thought they said she was brain dead.’
‘Shhh. Come outside, please. We mustn’t upset the patient – just in case she can hear. Some coma victims are locked in, you see. They can hear but they can’t communicate. A living hell really. Come through and I’ll explain.’
‘You know what? I’m gonna split. I’ve got stuff to do. But I will come back. Promise. Are you on tomorrow night? Look after my girl for me, won’t you.’
Their voices are trailing off down the corridor. Planning to meet the next night. Lisa’s on the same shift. He’ll come by after work. He’s a businessman, he says. I wonder what he does. Sounds like a fob-off. Then his voice is nearer again.
‘. . . just forgot my wallet . . . yes, sure . . . see you tomorrow . . . yeah . . .’ he’s shouting down the corridor.
He is walking back towards me.
He has a sing-song voice. Breathy and low. Weirdly frightening. He’s whispering but he’s close to me. It’s so loud and so close it fills my brain. It fills the dark with dread. I am alone and afraid.
‘Bye, Saaaaraaaah. Seeee youuuu tommmmooooorrrooow.’
The door clicks shut.
Is he trying to kill me?
10
Kelly
Day One – 10.30 p.m.
The late-night bulletin has no more information than the earlier ones. No one is saying anything. Some twat of a policeman is going on about how crime is lower in the area than it’s ever been, which is fucking LOL. People just don’t report anything any more cos they know the police are like shite.
My mum got a call from them just before we had tea. She had her special telephone voice on. They are coming tomorrow at four. They are conducting investigations. Door-to-fucking-door. Blah-di-fucking-blah.
My mum comes in my room and says it’s time for bed. And because I must look like shit she says that it must’ve been like a random mugging so stop worrying, and Sarah is gonna be fine, and why don’t I clear the fucking floor up once in a while. She climbs over the piles of clothes and magazines and sits on my bed like she did before Billy got so needy. She says that they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. That no one would want to harm yuppies. I can think of quite a few people who would have liked to hurt Adam, actually. Adam is Sarah’s husband. Did I tell you that? In fact no one really liked Adam at all. He was a total tosser. I didn’t say that to my mum. Obvs. She’s Catholic. And she always says you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. And she says, ‘Where were you anyway, Kelly? Last night’, like really serious. And I say, ‘I was at Sarah’s, Mum. Like every Thursday.’ And she says, ‘But she wasn’t in. She was out with Adam.’ And I say, ‘Yeah, I was doing my coursework on her dining-room table as usual until Adam came home, and I was so into it that I thought I may as well finish.’ And she says, ‘But you were late, right? What time did you come in?’ And I say, ‘Fuck my life, Mum, I don’t know. About ten? Don’t you want me to do my homework or something? Do you want me to fail all my exams?’ And she says, ‘It was later.’ And I say, ‘What are you trying to say, Mum, that I mugged Sarah? That I killed Adam? Yeah, that’s it, Mum. I totally did it.’ And then she gets really cross and she leaves. And she says, ‘Just shut up, Kelly. Shut up. Stop talking while I think.’ She was definitely crying.
11
Sarah
Day Two – 6 a.m.
‘Morning, Sarah. And how are you today? You’re in hospital. Time to wake up. It’s raining but we expect a bit of rain in the spring, right? Better than snow!’
I can hear. I can hear. The beeping sound is back. The click, click, click, click is back. The tapping has gone. The man has gone. Who was that man? My brother. Who the fuck am I?
‘Time to wake up now, Sarah. My name’s Beth. You’re in HOSPITAL.’
Morning, Beth. Nice to hear you.
‘Are Mum and Dad in yet?’
The other nurse. Lucinda. The Irish one.
‘They’re getting tea. I’ve never known two people drink so much tea.’
‘It’s not the dad.’
I love my dad.
‘What did the police say yesterday? My shift ended just after they arrived.’
‘Well . . .’
Beth lowers her voice, but not so I can’t hear. They’re funny. They tell EVERYBODY not to talk about stuff in front of me, then do it themselves.
‘Adam, the husband, has had his PM.’
What’s a PM?
‘He was killed by a blow to the head.’
Killed? KILLED?
‘What, he hit the pavement too then, like her?’
‘No, that’s what’s odd. His was a direct-impact injury. That’s what Briggsy said. You know Briggsy on the lower ground floor?’
‘Maybe they were after him all the time and Sarah was just an innocent bystander.’
‘Yeah, I can’t imagine anyone would randomly mug someone who was six foot four, would they? I mean, you’d have to really plan how to take down someone who was that big, right? There can’t be many muggers daft enough to see a six-foot-four guy walking along and think, ooh, I must mug him. You’d have to be crazy. You wouldn’t get a second chance. Not unless you were a really good shot. He was massive.’
Six foot four? ‘If he’s six foot four and he got a massive head trauma, wouldn’t the murderer have to be like really, really tall?’
They are both giggling.
‘Calling all units,’ – in a police radio voice – ‘please be on the lookout for the jolly green giant in a balaclava.’
‘Or a mugger on stilts.’
‘Or Bruce Lee giving a flying kick? Hang on, though, maybe he was attacked when he was already on the pavement?’
‘No. That’s what I said, but Briggsy said he must have been standing up. He said they can tell by the blood-spatter distribution. But you know what that lot are like. They change their minds all the time. And then there’s all the stuff they don’t tell you.’
I can’t picture anyone called Adam.
‘Have they released the body?’
‘God, no. It’ll be ages. It’s a murder investigation now.’
‘Have they got any suspects?’
‘No, but they should have CCTV of the street. There’s a traffic camera on that bit of road cos it’s right by a park and near a school.’
‘So they’ll find him.’
‘Him or them.’
‘What, a gang?’
Someone arrives.
‘Probably. Ah, Mrs Beresford! Got your tea?’
‘Yes, thank you, Beth. How’s Sarah?’
‘We’ll be back in about ten minutes to take her for a brain scan. Now don’t forget to do the talking, Mum. We’d like to see some movement today. Her meds are right down. Mr Malin is around later and he’s going to be asking about progress.’
Progress. What progress? I can’t move anything. I’m stuck in this dead body. I can’t get out.
‘The physio is coming this afternoon, too. We need to get those legs moving or we’ll be getting bedsores.’
‘She was such a pretty little girl. Brian, wasn’t she a pretty little girl?’
‘She was always a lovely girl, June. She still is.’
My dad.
There’s a loud noise. Really loud. Like a foghorn on a boat. It’s very close. Maybe I’m dreaming. There are really loud crashes. No voices. I want to get away.
I want to shut out the noise.
I don’t want to be here.
Who was that man in my room?
What does he want from me?
What will happen when he comes back?
12
Kelly
Day Two – 11 a.m.
The police are coming at four. It’s Saturday. No school. Sarah’s face has been all over the telly all morning. There’s pictures of Adam too. A picture of their wedding when Sarah doesn’t even look like Sarah. She was so glamorous. She wore a lace silk dress with a long bit at the back that stuck out. Like a model or a film star or something. There’s more pictures of Sarah than there are of Adam. And they’re saying that they got mugged. But they say that it must’ve been planned. That it wasn’t random. They don’t say how they know. Pigs never give much away.
Mum has taken Billy to football. The police are actually here already – next door in Sarah’s house. They’ve put tape outside the front gate that says POLICE on it in blue letters. It doesn’t seem right that they should be going through all her stuff. If I stand in our hall I can hear what they are saying. I can even hear their radios. They keep going up and down the stairs.