The Girl Who Cried Wolf

by Bella James

  That silences me for a second. It is true that my visitors seem to have declined in line with my hair follicles. The sicker I looked, the less they came.

  ‘Izzy, please, don’t make me spend my last few weeks with her looking after me. It will be the actual death of me.’

  I groan dramatically but I do feel utterly doomed.

  My one chink of light had been the warm, relaxed home of my grandparents. They would have left me alone to wallow in my misery, and turned a blind eye if I raided the drinks cabinet. Now I would be offered endless cups of green tea and miracle cures from her herbal remedies collection. She’d tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself, and I could already feel the sun pierce my eyes as she pulled open the drapes at some ungodly hour every morning.

  Izzy knows I am upset and leans forward from the back seat to put her arms around me. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll be there to look after you. It’s better this way, trust me, Anna.’ She leans forward and whispers in my ear, ‘I’ll sneak you in the odd brandy and Coke.’

  I smile and lean my head against hers.

  ***

  Despite my gloom at the change of plans for my ‘rest’ period, my heart lifts just a little as we pull on to the long driveway that leads to Elm Tree. Tudor-style with white walls and black beams, it’s actually quite beautiful. Surrounding the house are green lawns, lily ponds and weeping willows that wouldn’t be out of place in a Monet. Despite having a regular gardener, the grounds had been left a while so wild flowers could flourish, and poppies surround the low stone walls. Perhaps my father had had his say outside, because inside was one hundred per cent Mother.

  This becomes all too depressingly apparent as we open the huge front door to the entrance hall that looked more hotel than home: Mahogany furniture, a round table supporting an oversized Japanese vase of faux flowers and a burgundy Chesterfield. Hardwood flooring made our arrival echo around the walls, as the house came out of its high-polished silence. The familiar smell of air freshener and cleaning products filled my nostrils, and I felt sick.

  ‘Here we are,’ Lillian says quietly. ‘Do you want to go to go to your bedroom or shall I make up the living room?’

  I scowl at her. I’m still angry with her for talking to Michael. Not that I would give her the satisfaction of saying so.

  ‘Why not shove me in the attic, Mummy dearest? That way you won’t have to follow me round with disinfectant everywhere I go.’

  I’m very satisfied to see her knocked down by my words, and head for the drawing room, intentionally choosing the one room she would not want me ensconced. It was specifically reserved for entertaining Father’s important guests before dinner. We had never been allowed in there – it was mostly white. Sofas, carpets, even the walls were ghostly alabaster. I open the door, leaving Izzy and Mother whispering something at each other, and take in the antiques and exquisite paintings. But the room is cold and unwelcoming; I have to force myself across the threshold.

  Above the fireplace is a painting of three angels reaching down to a cherub offering gifts of golden musical instruments. Rows of portraits hang under brass display lamps on each wall. People from a different century, who once sat for those paintings with beating hearts, had now been a long time dead. Ten pairs of cold, unsmiling eyes watch me as I step tentatively backwards and out of the room.

  ‘What a shithole,’ I say loudly, making my mother wince. ‘I’ll go straight to my room. No doubt you’ve taken my absence as an excuse to tidy up and snoop around.’

  I turn the brass knob and push the door open, its drag familiar over the thick pile carpet, and I see my room is just as I left it. She has made the bed, but that is all. My green dress is still on the floor next to the open wardrobe, drawers hang off their hinges where I dragged my clothes out in haste. The pictures of horses I have outgrown but never want to take down remain Blu-tacked to the walls. I am so taken aback she has not gone through it all that I jump when I heard her voice next to me.

  ‘I like a little chaos, Anna. When you were in hospital I would come to this room and be comforted.’ She pauses and does the little cough she does when she feels awkward. ‘We’ve missed you terribly these last few weeks. Just waking up here, having breakfast together …’

  ***

  We had argued the day I went into hospital, but there was nothing new there. I told her it was all her fault that Dad worked away so much, that he couldn’t stand her and neither could I.

  I was about to say she could have at least tidied up for today when she knew I would be back, and did she expect me to do chores already? But something stopped me and I just mumbled, ‘Thanks.’ Her cold hand touched my arm and I unintentionally flinched, spoiling the moment.

  On cue, Izzy breezed in and busied herself by picking up my dress and closing the drawers.

  ‘I’ll start dinner,’ Mum said, bidding a hasty retreat leaving Izzy and me alone.

  ‘What now?’ I said, feeling lost.

  She looked serious for a second, then beamed and said, ‘Let’s try on all of your jeans and see if they aren’t too big for you.’

  ‘Ooh you’re a genius, Isabel!’

  I ran to hug her then started pulling my clothes out of the wardrobe.

  To my absolute glee, the jeans that I had once shoe-horned myself into now slipped easily over my slim thighs and hung loosely round my waist. Izzy even indulged my euphoria and tried on the same pair to show me how much fatter she was in comparison. We screamed with laughter as she lay on the bed and I stood over her, pulling furiously at the zip until it popped.

  All the fun and exertion soon took its toll on me, and I climbed under the covers half an hour later despite her ardent protesting.

  ‘Come have dinner first,’ Izzy pleaded. ‘Mum’s gone to a lot of trouble.’

  I rolled my eyes and said I’d have a Pot Noodle later, then waited until Izzy left the room before I pulled my bag onto my lap and reached for the painkillers I had insisted to Mr Raj that I needed.

  I could not simply lie there waiting for sleep. My thoughts would turn to Michael and the pain of losing him. I swallowed two, then another for good measure, and welcomed oblivion.

  ***

  The next few days passed in something of a blur, but I remember spending a lot of time in bed. I would open my eyes at various intervals and see my sister’s concerned face, tell her to get lost, and she would agree to leave me alone if I just had a sip of this or a bite of that. I suppose they thought I was asleep one afternoon when I overheard their conversation regarding my lack of energy.

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘Yes, darling. He sounded surprised she was spending so much time in bed because the week before coming home she had significantly more energy.’

  ‘When she was looking after Michael…’ Izzy sounds worried. ‘I don’t know what happened and I’m too scared to talk to her about it. I asked her yesterday if she’d heard from him and she threw a protein shake at me.’

  ‘Well, we can’t focus on that now. We need to get her up and about. Maybe some fresh air or proper food will help. I’m trying, Izzy. I’ve been cooking food that will do her good. It’s not my forte but Lord knows I’ve tried.’

  ‘I know, Mum. We’ll give her half an hour then wake her up. At least she’ll be in a better mood when she hears that Father’s coming home today.’

  I shot up out of my pretend sleep like a corpse springing up from its coffin, giving them both the fright of their lives. ‘When? When is he coming home?’

  My father had been in New Zealand since before I was diagnosed. I needed to get straightened out before he saw me. A pang of fear washed over me. He would get such a shock when he saw his ‘used to be so pretty’ little girl.

  ‘Oh, so you are awake.’ Izzy looked cross but a little bit relieved. ‘I’ll help you get ready.’

  I washed my face and sprayed on some deodorant, before letting Izzy do my make-up and pencil on some dark blonde eyebrows. She is the only one who seems to do this prop
erly. I’ve taken to screaming ‘eyebrows!’ at the top of my voice if I need them done and she’s not in the immediate vicinity.

  ‘God, Anna,’ she’d said last week. ‘What must the staff think? I could hear you in the lift!’

  ‘Hurry up!’ I’d giggled. ‘I’m seeing Michael soon. I need my brows.’

  A lifetime ago.

  ‘Why are your hands shaking?’ she now asked, as she carefully stencilled over the original arch above my eyes.

  ‘Because I have a brain tumour,’ I replied bluntly, reaching for my trusty pills as I felt my anxiety awaken when I thought about Michael.

  ‘They didn’t used to, that wasn’t one of your symptoms.’ Now she looked nervous. ‘Mum talked to Mr Raj earlier.’ She felt me stiffen but carried on bravely. ‘He says those painkillers you’re taking are only for emergencies; when you really can’t bear a headache. He said if you take too many they’ll make you feel very tired and depressed. He said they might even make your headaches worse in the end. So, err, perhaps you should cut back on them a bit?’

  I looked at her defiantly and popped another two. ‘Mother of the Year has been talking to Mr Raj behind my back. Again. What a surprise. For your information, these tablets are the only things keeping me from wringing the woman’s neck.’

  She finished my make-up in silence and I did not bother to thank her as I walked unsteadily from the room, holding tightly to the bannister as I descended the stairs.

  ***

  My father did not show up until the following day. He said the traffic was so bad he had stayed overnight at a Traveller’s Inn. He listened patiently as I sobbed my heart out, and my pleasure at seeing him had been completely ruined by the fact my mother failed to wake me earlier. I woke up to see him sitting by my bed, looking horrified.

  ‘I tried to wake you several times,’ she said, but I in no way believed her. I knew she was jealous that I loved him dearly, but I could hardly believe she would have been so spiteful. You see, my father is terrified of sick people. He never talks about weakness or ill health, he thinks everyone should just be civilized and get on with things. Even when my mother was pregnant with Izzy, I heard Grandma tell Gramps how he was ‘repulsed’ at her growing belly and the concept of childbirth. So it was all the more important for me to be up and dressed and looking the best I could – I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, which, right now, he inevitably did.

  ‘Couldn’t you have got her some sort of wig?’ Even I was slightly taken aback at his tone, but instead of explaining how I hated the feel of them and that I was scared of looking ridiculous, my mother turned on her heel and left the room.

  ‘It’s OK, Annabel,’ he said, handing me a linen handkerchief to indicate the tears could stop now. ‘I’ll have Leona find one for you.’ Leona was his personal assistant and in charge of our birthday and Christmas presents if Father was working away. ‘The very best!’ He sounded so triumphant that I neglected to mention I had screamed and spat in my mother’s face the day she brought a selection of wigs into the hospital for me.

  ‘Thanks, Daddy. I need to freshen up, I’ll see you downstairs.’

  After he leaves, their shouting in the kitchen finds its familiar path through the echoing walls of Elm Tree to my bedroom. I couldn’t hear everything, but I did make out something about her being bloody useless. Too right.

  ***

  With my new, rather chic, pale blonde wig and Izzy’s eyebrow magic, I critique my latest reflection a little less harshly. The wig is from a London boutique, made of real hair, and my father even paid a stylist to come to our house and cut it for me. It now frames my face with a sweeping fringe and layers flow down past my shoulders. I tell Izzy as often as possible that I no longer have split ends, and what a shame she does.

  I declined Father’s offer to take me to London to have it cut at a salon. The tablets I rely on really do make me tired, although lately I have started to take even more as they do not seem to be working as quickly. I shake less, though, and am even steadier on my feet. So much for taking too many – I felt better!

  So it is with relieved expressions that Jules and Eddie see me walk into the living room. This is their first visit since I left hospital and I note they have found Father’s wine rack.

  We all hug a bit awkwardly and sit down on the deep set sofas. I am much brighter and though I still feel that someone has ripped my heart out and stuck it in a blender, I push Michael to the back of my mind and smile at my friends.

  ‘You look fine to me!’ Eddie says after knocking back his first glass of wine. ‘You really are a big faker, Anna Winters. Obviously nothing the bloody matter with you!’

  Jules is also topping her glass up and I have only taken two sips. Alcohol has lost its appeal lately, so while I appreciate Eddie’s good humour, that alone tells me I’m not at all well.

  ‘You do look great, hun,’ Jules tells me, drinking Father’s Châteauneuf-du-Pape as though it were Vimto. ‘We were really worried about you after the hospital visit. I mean, you could have warned us!’

  Her laugh is a bit hollow and I take a few more sips of wine, feeling vulnerable. I look over my shoulder and see the brass bell I had found in Father’s office. It started off as a joke but I’d taken to ringing it quite frequently for Izzy. She appears seconds later and Jules and Eddie start laughing, which breaks the tension, but only a little.

  ‘What now, Anna?’ Izzy looks very cross, which makes them laugh harder. ‘I’m trying to do homework. I can’t drop everything every time you want a cup of tea or your toenails painted!’

  I secretly love it when Izzy gets so mad at me; it makes me feel less like an invalid and more like the bossy sister who has always driven her crazy.

  ‘More wine.’

  I lift the empty bottle and glare at her defiantly as she eyes the expensive label. As I stare at her, I try to tell my sister, just by my opening my eyes a little wider, that I am not comfortable and I need her.

  She rolls her eyes dramatically, but I know she gets it as she returns a few minutes later with a slightly less expensive bottle and a juice for herself. She plonks herself next to me protectively and calls me a loser.

  I feel better now she has joined us, and I tell her she is fat.

  ***

  We drink wine until the afternoon descends into November twilight, and Eddie says they should go because he only has one headlight on his old Volkswagen Golf. He yawns dramatically and stands up. ‘I need an early night, anyway, the neighbour’s dog howls all night like a banshee.’

  ‘Your neighbour doesn’t have a dog.’ I sound confused, remembering the mean-spirited drunk who lives in the rundown house next door to theirs – Hardly an animal-loving type.

  ‘He does now,’ Jules says, as she and Eddie look nervously at each other. ‘Speaking of home, and I know this may not be the best time what with your, err …’

  ‘Brain tumour?’ I offer silently.

  ‘… Illness and all that, but we’ve missed you coming round. So don’t be a stranger, eh?’

  A tiny part of me wondered if they missed me or the bottles of booze I used to bring.

  They both mumble their goodbyes and I hear Izzy telling them curtly that no, she couldn’t lend them a few quid for petrol.

  Izzy comes back in and says, ‘Hope he gets done for drink driving. What a prick.’

  I would have normally defended my friends, but I say nothing and let her cover me with a blanket while I fall asleep in front of the crackling fire.

  ***

  I open my eyes to the dreaded smell of nut loaf. Since I have been home my mother’s attempts at healthy cooking have become depressingly worse. My heart lifts a little when I remember that Father will be joining us, and I even manage to eat some crusty bread and butter while he smiles at me approvingly.

  ‘Now then,’ he says. ‘You certainly look better than the sickly ragamuffin I came home to. I’m glad I came back when I did; at least you’ve got a fighting chance to beat this thin
g. You need all your strength for next week, when they try to remove the er …’

  ‘Cancer?’ Another silent suggestion.

  ‘… the problem. As it were.’ He coughs, looking disappointed, and Mother intervenes quickly.

  ‘Your room is a tip, Anna.’ I’m surprised at her perceptiveness – she knows I prefer to be treated as normally as possible, so I indulge her and tell her to piss off.

  A loud cough from Father, who does not understand why Mum and Isabel share a smile.

  He witters on about work and says he really ought to be getting back across the pond soon, and I feel worse that it is my fault he is treading the eggshells of our new family life instead of doing the job he loves.

  It surprises me to realize that things had been slightly better before he came home. I could not put my finger on it but there was less tension or something. I push the guilty thought to one side and reach for some fruit, winning another smile from the man I dote on.

  ***

  As I lie in bed later that night, alone and in the dark, real fear washes over me. Have you ever been truly afraid? You’ll never forget the feeling. Terror squeezing your heart in tight hands, your panicked response as your pulse quickens and you struggle to breathe. It comes for me now, and there is nowhere to hide.

  What if I don’t survive the operation? Somewhere inside me I sense a fantastical truth that I was not going to. Should I be enlightened by now to what life is really about and what we are doing here anyway?

  I wish that a sense of peace would replace this unending fear that I am going to fall into darkness. And so too will each of us until no one remembers my ever being here at all.

  I want to run out into the night screaming, ‘I’m here! I’m alive, I’m somebody good … I have a place in this world!’

  And perhaps if I believed that, I would run out of Elm Tree and dance like a ghost through the meadow. I might stand some sort of chance against fate. Instead, I choose to stay in my familiar gloom, pulling the blankets more tightly around myself, wondering why those words would sound so empty and hollow.