Grace bit her lip to keep herself from smiling.
Sister Bennett wore a plaid dressing gown and pink slippers. It was like seeing your father in his underpants. This random thought immediately quashed the urge to smile.
Sister Bennett patted her face dry with a towel and then, drawing herself up to her full height, said: ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness, Nurse.’
‘Yes, Sister,’ Grace said. She wondered if she was in for a lecture now. She could feel her precious minutes creeping away.
Sister Bennett was full of aphorisms. If she caught you buttering the bread in a manner she considered sloppy, she’d say, ‘Make in haste, repent at leisure.’ If, thinking you were alone, you dared to increase from a fast walk to a pace that verged recklessly on a slow run, she’d pop up from nowhere and yell: ‘Running is for horses. Are you a horse, Nurse?’ Privately, Grace longed to neigh loudly but, instead, she stopped, apologised and generally made herself late for whatever appointment or task she was hurrying towards.
With a final, disapproving glare that took in every inch of Grace’s being from the top of her head to the ground beneath her toes, Sister Bennett swept out of the bathroom.
Grace nipped into the first cubicle and showered quickly in the blissfully hot water. Stepping out, into a room shrouded in water vapour, she caught sight of something pale moving in the mirror. She felt a moment of fear before realising it was her own reflection. She turned slowly from side to side, looking at her naked self in profile and front-on. It felt safe with the room all steamed up and, for once, she didn’t reach for her combination right away. She felt as if she was becoming, being made, in the mirror. That was her image, that was her body, but as it turned in the glass Grace began to feel afraid. A silly thought crept across her mind that if she stopped turning the figure in the mirror would keep moving.
Left side, right side, left side, right. Then, on the last turn, she pivoted a little more and caught a glimpse of her back. It was just a flash, over so quickly that Grace wasn’t entirely sure she’d really seen it. Was it even possible to see your own back? Was her mind playing tricks on her? Perhaps the tiredness had truly sent her around the bend. Deep down, though, she knew: there was a black shadow. She’d seen it. A ragged-edged starburst, so dark and terrible that it stopped Grace’s breath.
MINA
There was a precious slice of time early in the morning, when the ward was relatively quiet and I could read in peace. I picked up the history book. It was like a comfort blanket to me, even though I’d given up hope of ever finding my nurse within its pages. And then, as I flicked through, just trying to stop my mind from following Geraint, I found her. I was looking at a picture of an iron lung – the poor kid trapped inside the thing had a mirror above his face, angled so that he could see some of the room, rather than just staring at the ceiling. I had been so captivated by the horrifying image that it took me a moment to realise that I recognised the nurse standing next to him. She was holding a toy train, as if the photograph had been taken in the middle of a game, and it was my nurse. Grace, if my dream could be believed. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. She was real.
The caption underneath the photograph read: ‘The Royal Sussex’s first life-saving iron lung, donated by philanthropist Lord Nuffield’.
No mention of the patient or the nurse, they were just set dressing for the enormous machine. A metal box, not entirely dissimilar to the scanners I used every day at work. Frightening to the patient, vital to the scientist, fascinating to all. It was definitely her, though. That oval face, so serene and pretty. Like a figure from a pre-Raphaelite painting.
I held the book up to my face and studied the picture. The way her fingers curled around the toy train, the expression on her face as she looked at the boy. His lips were slightly parted as if he was saying something and I had a fierce longing to know what they were talking about. I felt happy for him, though. If you were going to have polio and end up in an artificial respirator, then she was undoubtedly the nurse to have by your side.
I wondered whether the little boy in the picture had made a full recovery or whether he’d become one of the tragic polio statistics. I couldn’t imagine anything worse that being trapped inside a machine like that for your last living moments. I tried to imagine lying on my back, my body encased in metal, being spoon-fed or having my face washed.
My stomach lurched dramatically and I felt, for a moment, as if I was falling. Then I was inside a different metal box. There was broken glass everywhere and bright lights were making it sparkle. A strap across my shoulder and waist pinned me tightly. I couldn’t move. There was something viscous and warm running down my face and when I tried to open my eyes, I couldn’t. My eyelashes were stuck together. I knew something really bad had happened. I knew I was hurt. I couldn’t feel the pain but I had a dreadful, cold feeling inside and the words ‘this is bad’ running, unhelpfully, on a loop through my brain.
It was the accident. I was remembering being in the car. The little lift of excitement I got from remembering something was tempered by a wave of sickness. I had been so scared. Thinking had been like forcing my way through concrete, every disjointed realisation a marathon.
I forced myself back into the memory and breathed deeply to control the remembered panic. I couldn’t see anything but I knew I was in the car. The windscreen must’ve been shattered because I could feel the night air on my skin and there was lots of noise. I could hear traffic moving on the wet road and bright lights were shining red through my closed eyelids. There had been a movement by my left hip. I felt my clothes shifting as if a small animal was burrowing underneath them, which didn’t make any sense, and then I realised that something was being lifted from my jacket pocket. I wanted to speak but I couldn’t make my mouth open or sound emerge. I might have moaned, but there was a shifting from beside me. Someone was moving and the passenger door opened and then slammed shut.
‘I remembered something,’ I said as soon as Mark arrived that evening. I had been desperate to tell him and couldn’t keep it in for another second. Okay, that was a lie. I really wanted to tell Stephen, it felt like a victory for his medical skills, but I hadn’t seen him all day. ‘That’s great,’ Mark said. He kissed me on the cheek. ‘I hope it’s our first date, that was a cracker.’
I was momentarily derailed. The words ‘first date’ did bring back a memory. More and more, memories were coming back. Doors opening that I could simply step through. I remembered meeting Mark at work, and I knew that we’d had an ill-advised one- night fling after a couple of drinks, but that he’d refused to accept that it wasn’t something more serious. I’d woken up the morning after our night together feeling faintly ridiculous, but he’d been in full romance mode, going out to buy breakfast and the papers and phoning me later that day to say how wonderful it had been. I remember that he’d kept on asking me out for dinner and that I’d agreed, finally, as a kind of salute to his persistence.
‘I do,’ I said, ‘but that’s not what I wanted to tell you. I remember being in the car.’
Mark had only just sat down, but he jumped up. ‘Do you want a coffee? I need a coffee.’
‘Did you hear what I said? I remember—’
‘Not everything is about you, Mina,’ Mark said. ‘I didn’t sleep well and I’ve had a very trying day and I need some coffee.’ He walked away.
I was halfway through the laborious job of getting myself out of bed in order to follow him, when he returned, looking conciliatory. He had two paper cups and he put them on the bedside cabinet and swung my legs back on to the bed. My back screamed but I knew he was trying to be helpful so I didn’t say anything. He must have seen my grimace, though, as he said ‘sorry’ a bit gruffly and plumped my pillows.
‘Someone was there,’ I said, not able to keep it inside any more.
‘At the scene? Of course. The ambulance people. And the police. You had everyone up and out of their warm beds, I’m just glad you didn’t hurt anybody.’
Guilt slammed me again. What if I’d been driving recklessly? I knew that I hadn’t been over the limit with alcohol or drugs, but I might have been upset. An electric charge shot through me and another door opened: I had been upset. There wasn’t any information to go with the realisation, but the feeling was true.
‘Someone was next to me. But they left,’ I said, trying to keep hold of my thoughts, trying to get back the clarity I’d felt when I’d remembered. ‘The door shut. Not my door, the passenger door.’
Mark took a sip of his coffee and pulled a face. ‘Disgusting.’
‘You don’t seem very interested.’ Annoyance cut through my confusion. I didn’t understand why he didn’t care. I felt like I’d made a major breakthrough. I thought he’d be pleased.
‘You’re very jumbled still,’ Mark said, shaking his head. ‘You think you heard something but the car doors would have been opened by the emergency services, not to mention all the other vehicles nearby.’
‘No, there was definitely someone there. In the car. I think they went through my pockets. Could some opportunistic bastard have robbed me?’ The idea that someone had taken advantage while I sat there, halfway unconscious, bleeding and vulnerable, was like a punch in the stomach. ‘That’s awful. How could someone do that?’
‘I think you probably had all kinds of strange dreams. You hit your head really hard. The doctors think you were unconscious, don’t they? You can’t remember being in the car. It’s just not possible. I know you want to get your mind back, but you mustn’t latch on to fantasy and dreams. You’ll never get better if you give in to that.’ He patted my hand. ‘You’ve got to stay strong. You’ve got to stick with the facts.’
‘But what if someone was there? Shouldn’t I tell the police? If there was a witness, shouldn’t the police speak to them?’
‘You’re not listening to me,’ Mark said, his voice steely calm. ‘You were driving alone and you crashed your car. Nobody stopped by to nick things from you. You said it yourself – what kind of person would do that? You’re being paranoid.’
Paranoid. ‘But—’
‘Can we please talk about something else?’ Mark’s voice had an edge to it that made the hairs on my arms stand up. ‘I’ve had a fucking awful day and I was looking forward to spending time with my girlfriend, not rehashing this all over again. I’d rather not think about that terrible accident, I’d rather look to the future.’
Mark ran a hand through his hair. He looked pale and tired and I felt a stab of guilt. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Tell me about your day.’
He patted my hand and I resisted the urge to snatch it away. I took a sip from the coffee instead. It really was disgusting.
Mark began a blow-by-blow account of his day’s meetings and I tried to pay attention. The word ‘paranoid’ kept repeating in my mind, though, and I couldn’t make it stop.
After Mark had left and I was alone, I still couldn’t get the word ‘paranoid’ out of my head. I missed Geraint so much. I had been worried about him, I’d been upset about my memory loss, and I’d been frightened, but now I just felt homesick. I wanted my brother. I wanted him to sling an arm around my shoulders and make me laugh. I wanted him to tell me what I should do about Mark, too.
I had a strong feeling that Mark knew something about the accident. Maybe, even, that he was the figure I remembered being in the car. His reaction had cemented this suspicion and, although I assumed he would have a sensible explanation for it, I still felt cast adrift.
I picked up my phone, thinking that I could try calling Geraint again. The sensation of the phone against my face brought something back – listening to a message on my landline phone. Suddenly I could see my flat clearly and the little table where I kept the telephone. The base unit was showing the steady red light of a saved message and it was achingly familiar. I knew that I’d pressed the button to listen to that message over and over, until every syllable and breath was scored deeply across my mind.
Geraint’s voice: ‘Mina? You’ve got to call me back. Right now. Or, like, five minutes ago—’
I dropped my mobile and it slipped off the bed, clattering on the floor. Geraint’s voice continued, though, as distinct and clear as if it was happening now, not playing from my memory.
Why had I memorised that message?
I didn’t want to know.
Why had I listened to it over and over again?
I didn’t want to know.
I remembered plugging in my answer machine in the new flat and seeing the saved message light. The unit had a back-up battery, which had preserved the memory during the journey from London to Brighton. I remembered the feelings of relief and misery that had rushed through me. The little red light signalling so much pain and guilt and anger. Part of me had hoped the battery would fail, that the message would disappear into the ether, but I should have known that I didn’t deserve any respite.
I didn’t want to remember these things.
The door had opened and all I had to do was to walk through. Geraint was waiting for me on the other side, I was sure of it, but for some reason I didn’t want to join him.
GRACE
Grace was rushing to fold and pin her cap and, as usual, it was being obstinately uncooperative. She was thinking about one of her patients and wondering how he’d spent the night so didn’t hear Evie the first time she spoke. ‘Sorry. Miles away.’
‘Thomas asked me to give you this.’ Evie was holding out a book. It was a hardback copy of A Room with a View. Bound in red cloth with gold lettering on the spine. ‘He said you’d mentioned that you never had time to get to the library.’
‘He shouldn’t have bothered.’ Grace turned away from Evie and the beautiful book.
‘Aren’t you an ice maiden?’ Evie said, approval in her voice. ‘You’re not as daft as you pretend.’
‘It’s not a game,’ Grace said, more crossly than she intended. ‘He ought to know better. If the sister sees that she’ll have me on the rug.’
‘I hardly think she’ll report you for reading,’ Evie said. ‘Although, she is a peculiar one, so who knows?’
‘I don’t think it’s worth the trouble,’ Grace said. And she didn’t just mean the book. She couldn’t stop thinking about the black shadow. She could almost feel it sitting on her back, biding its time. It was a constant reminder that happiness was not hers to take, that everything she held dear could come crashing down at any moment.
Evie nudged her to one side, to get a spot in front of the mirror. ‘Robert says that life isn’t worth living without a little risk.’ She bared her teeth and ran a tongue over them, like a cat.
Grace turned away from the mirror. Taking risks was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
As if to prove her philosophy, the ward was in a state of chaos when she arrived on duty. The ward sister shook her head as she hurried past. ‘Barnes has gone and sprained her ankle. Just what I need.’
With one pair of hands short, the day flew by in a blur of activity. Grace rushed from one task to the next and didn’t have a moment to think about mysterious shadows and fate.
As soon as her shift ended, she went to visit Barnes, who was sitting up in bed with her textbook on her lap.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said, and slipped a magazine out from underneath the covers. ‘Sister said I had to study if I was going to be lying around all day like Lady Muck.’
Grace felt the knot in her chest loosen a little. Barnes was her usual healthy colour, her usual cheerful self. ‘Are you comfortable?’ Grace reached for the pillows. Barnes leaned forward obligingly and Grace took the opportunity to check her back. No shadow. It had gone. She sat down heavily on the bed.
‘Oof, watch out!’ Barnes said, shifting her legs.
‘You’re all right,’ Grace said. ‘You’re not dying.’ Barnes wasn’t terminally ill. The worry that it was Madame Clara happening all over again flew away.
‘Bloomin’ feels like it, I can tell you. Have you ever had a sprained an
kle? It hurts something terrible. And I won’t be able to run on sports day.’
‘Yes, but—’ Grace hesitated. She couldn’t explain her urge to smile, to grab Barnes in a hug and dance her around the room. Not without seeming doolally, at any rate. Seeing a shadow wasn’t a death sentence. It might just mean a little mishap. Grace didn’t mind a sprained ankle, wouldn’t mind sitting out of the races on sports day or not being able to play table tennis for a few weeks. She kissed Barnes on one rosy cheek. ‘I’m just glad you didn’t really hurt yourself.’
‘Weren’t you listening?’ Barnes said, clearly offended. ‘I’ve never felt anything like it. Red hot poker right in my bones it is.’
‘Which bone?’ Grace said, tapping the textbook. ‘Sister Bennett is bound to ask.’
‘Too true,’ Barnes said, catching on. ‘I’d better check.’
‘Talus,’ Grace said, standing up. ‘But it’s your ligaments you’ve damaged. Probably your anterior tibiofibular ligament to be precise.’
‘Swot,’ Barnes said, mildly enough, and turned her attention to her magazine.
Grace said goodnight and went to find Evie in the smoking room. Perhaps she might read that book from Thomas after all.
MINA
I got the card that the police officer had left and looked at it for a while, trying to decide what to do. If I called her with my memory of the car door closing, what would it really achieve? Except for a massive fight with Mark.
‘Hello, you,’ Stephen said, walking into the room. He brought the scent of outside with him and I breathed in deeply, resisting the urge to lean closer and get a proper lungful.
I was grateful for the distraction and slipped the card between the pages of the paperback on my lap.
‘How are you feeling?’
The crease of concern between his eyebrows reminded me that the last time he’d seen me I’d done an impression of a delicate fainting Victorian lady and that Mark had been a massive knob. I tried to sound extra hearty when I replied, ‘Good. Yes, thanks. How are you?’
In the Light of What We See Page 21