I still couldn’t say anything. I wanted to feel a weight lifting, a shift inside me that meant all my pieces were clicking back together, but it didn’t happen. I still felt hollow and broken and alone. I knew that I couldn’t keep blaming Pat for that, though.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I just wish I had done something or that there was something I could’ve done. I just wish—’ I couldn’t finish the sentence, my throat had closed.
‘I know,’ Pat said, gently. ‘We all do.’
When Mark came in, carrying an empty suitcase to pack the detritus I’d accumulated over the weeks, I told him to put it back into the car. ‘I don’t want any of it.’
He looked momentarily hurt and I remembered that he’d bought me new nightshirts and toiletries, books and chocolates.
I tried to explain: ‘This has just been a nightmare. I want to leave it like that. I don’t want any reminders that it was real.’ I gestured around me at the ward, the bed, the horrible green curtains. ‘This was just a temporary blip.’
‘Right-oh,’ Mark said, closing the case and putting it on the floor. ‘Do you need help to get dressed?’
‘No.’ I had underwear on. Had wrestled myself into a bra for the first time since I’d arrived. It felt strange and restrictive, like when I’d first started wearing one as a flat-chested eleven-year-old. I had the stretchy yoga trousers I’d been wearing for physio laid out and a clean T-shirt. ‘Give me a sec, though.’
‘No problem. I’ll go and see if there are any forms to fill out.’
When the curtain closed I took a couple of deep breaths. I could feel the panic rising.
The ghost-nurse, Grace, was back. She was standing in the corner of the cubicle, next to the bedside cabinet. She was more translucent than usual and it was apparent that she wasn’t really there. I was glad to see her one last time. I wanted to say goodbye, to close the chapter. And to make it clear that she wasn’t welcome in my new life.
‘Goodbye,’ I said. Loud and clear.
The ghost didn’t turn her head. She didn’t speak or give any sign that she’d heard me, but something told me she was listening.
‘I don’t want you to follow me,’ I said, quieter this time.
I didn’t want to take my nightshirt off and pull my T-shirt over my head. The thought of being momentarily blind in front of the apparition was suddenly terrifying. I’d never felt frightened of her before. Was it because I was so close to normality? Was it because I had finally got my mental faculties back? With startling clarity I realised that fear was the correct response. Why hadn’t I felt it before? There was a ghost. Next to the drab green-beige wall, half turned away from me. I should be screaming. I should be running away.
‘Hello?’ I said, my voice cracking a little.
She didn’t move. The ward was quiet. It was just me and two sleeping old dears.
I wanted the ghost to move, to stop being so scarily still.
For a moment I thought I heard a voice. It was nothing more than a mumble and I couldn’t work out the words. Maybe I just heard the sounds in my head. Maybe it was my own panic speaking, or perhaps I’d developed another symptom. Tinnitus. Or schizophrenia.
The figure began shaking her head; she held out her arms as if she wanted to stop me from leaving.
The curtain swished and Mark appeared. The ghost blinked out of existence. Then appeared again, between me and Mark. She shook her head, her expression beseeching. She pushed her hands into Mark’s chest, as if trying to shove him away.
I knew, looking at Mark, that I didn’t love him. I’d probably conjured up the ghost as a way of warning myself that I didn’t love the man I was going to live with, but it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t require it. I didn’t deserve it. Geraint was dead. Nothing else mattered. I felt a tightness in my chest and tried to breathe more deeply.
‘Pat is arriving tomorrow.’ Mark was still chatting, seeming not to notice that I was having a panic attack. ‘I’m picking her up from the station at six. So, we’ll have the first night alone. It’ll be like a mini honeymoon.’
Very mini, I thought. And we’re not married. Then, I thought: Touch me and you lose a hand.
‘I can’t wait for you to see the house,’ he was saying.
I made a vague noise of agreement. I couldn’t wait to see the outside world. The hospital garden didn’t count. I was going to see proper sky and roads and houses and gardens and trees.
It was overwhelming. Getting out of the building was fine, I’d done nothing but walk corridors for the previous week, but going through the main reception with the shop and the café concession and the central information desk was like being in an airport. It felt vast and was so crowded with people. I clung to Mark’s arm, frightened of being knocked over.
He had parked right outside the entrance, in a short-term patient pick-up spot. He held the door open and I got into the passenger seat. I’d braced myself for an onslaught of bad memories. I assumed I’d have a traumatic flashback as soon as I was inside a vehicle, maybe even a panic attack, but it didn’t happen. I was just in a car seat, the inside of Mark’s Audi familiar and comfortable. Mark started the car and we pulled into the traffic and I felt nothing. I reasoned with myself. I’d been in a car perfectly safely far more often than I’d ever been in an accident. My psyche was clearly just being sensible and scientific, playing the odds.
The sun was out. It was hot through the glass and I leaned forwards to punch up the air conditioning. The strap tightened against my collarbone and shoulder and I felt sick for a second.
‘You all right?’ Mark glanced at me.
‘Fine,’ I said. Fine, fine, fine. Like a mantra.
I looked out of the window and marvelled at the world. It was as if I’d been shut away for years, not months. Everything was both strange and familiar and I felt unaccountably affectionate towards it all. I wanted to gather everything up: that lamp post, that drainage cover, that teenage boy with the skinny jeans and ridiculous scarf, even his frightening-looking dog. I wanted to hug them all tight to me. The world. I was back in the world.
‘I was thinking we’d get takeaway tonight,’ Mark was saying. ‘I didn’t think you’d be up to going out to eat, but I can make us a reservation if you like.’
‘Chicken chow mein is perfect,’ I said, loving the ease with which the words came back to me. A takeaway. I pictured foil dishes with cardboard lids, even though I knew that my local had switched to plastic microwaveable boxes ages ago. This comforting thought was immediately followed by a flash of panic. I wouldn’t be going to my local. Mark and I would have a new local. I was going to live with him in a house I’d never seen. ‘Can we go to my flat first?’
Mark didn’t look pleased, but he agreed. ‘I don’t want you to get too tired before we go home.’
Home. I felt a shudder of fear, which I pressed down tight.
‘I just want to say goodbye to it,’ I said. ‘Maybe pick up a few things.’
‘There’s nothing there,’ he said. ‘I moved all your clothes and make-up and stuff to the new place.’
‘What about my books? My plants?’
‘Those, too. There wasn’t space for all of the books but they’re boxed up ready.’
I wanted to ask ‘Ready for what?’ but I didn’t.
It didn’t take long to get to my building and, as we pulled up outside, a rush of familiarity hit me. I knew this place. I lived here. The front entrance and my own door were completely normal. I remembered them as soon as I saw them, even though seconds before I couldn’t have recalled them if I’d had a gun to my head.
Inside, however, I didn’t feel so good. The living room was filled with boxes and the purple sofa – the one I’d been trying to picture for the last couple of weeks – was a disappointment. It wasn’t as nice as the one I’d imagined.
Mark was hovering, clearly hurrying me. ‘What do you want? Let me get it for you.’
‘I don’t really know, I just wanted to be here.’ I wandered i
nto the bedroom. Mark hadn’t taken the linen off the bed and I touched the duvet cover. It was mine. I knew it was mine. I recognised it. I didn’t feel anything, though.
The book on the floor by the bed was very familiar. It was the same book – a history of the hospital – that Stephen had brought me. Not exactly the same, of course. This book was older, well read with a broken spine and scuffed pages. I picked it up and, like touching Rabbity, the feel of it in my hands brought things back. I remembered sitting up in bed – in this bed – and reading.
The numbness inside opened wider, sucking in every other feeling like a black hole. I had definitely imagined the ghost-nurse. I’d been reading about the hospital before the accident, looking at those old black-and-white photographs, the women in their funny starched uniforms. Then I’d conjured her up for comfort, a half-memory from my old life. I didn’t know why but I felt like crying.
I put the book down on the bed and swallowed hard.
I’d seen that picture of the little boy in the iron lung; I must’ve liked the look of the nurse with him and her image had floated up out of my subconscious. She wasn’t looking out for me; I’d just imagined she was because I’d felt so alone. Now I knew the truth. I really was alone.
Mark came into the room behind me. ‘Our new bedroom is much bigger,’ he said. ‘I know you feel like you’re leaving your home, but you are going to love your new one, I promise.’
Whatever else it was, this place didn’t feel like home, though. I didn’t have an urge to climb into that bed or to sit on that pale imitation of a purple sofa or even to go into the kitchen. I could picture it now without needing to see it. I’d had enough visual cues that the rest of the flat, the outside space, the place where I kept the wheelie bins, the bathroom with its underpowered shower, all came back. Just like Stephen had said, the information was there, it was just waiting for me to turn the page and look at it again.
‘I’m ready to go,’ I said. I picked up a handful of jewellery from the top of my chest of drawers and a pot of sparkly grey eyeshadow in order to justify the visit. I left the history book on top of the duvet. There was nothing there for me now.
GRACE
The morning after Grace had fallen asleep in Evie’s embrace, she expected the matter not to be mentioned again. That was Evie’s style, after all. Instead, Grace came back from the bathroom to find Evie sitting on her bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her face was freshly scrubbed, meaning she must’ve been up for ages, which wasn’t at all like Evie.
‘You’re up early. Are you feeling quite well?’ Grace tried to inject a note of frivolity into her voice, but Evie’s expression remained serious.
‘Tell me what happened last night.’
Grace thought Evie meant the tears, the confession. She felt better for telling someone. Speaking the words had been cathartic, but she was still worried about Evie’s reaction. What if she decided Grace was being too dramatic? Too tragic? She couldn’t bear it if Evie cast her off. ‘Oh, you know. Just a case of the blubs.’ Grace couldn’t meet Evie’s gaze. ‘I’m fine now. All better.’
‘I don’t mean that,’ Evie said. ‘Something must’ve happened to bring it on. You’ve never spoken about it before.’
‘Oh . . .’ Grace moved to the mirror and began trying to neaten her impossible hair. The words wanted to stick in her throat, but she forced them out. ‘Just a scrape with Dr Palmer. You know I told you he was bothering me?’
‘Explain,’ Evie said, steel in her voice.
So Grace did. As quickly as possible. She avoided looking at Evie as she did so, couldn’t bear it if she saw disgust or pity in her face. Then Grace began to put on her uniform.
‘You’re going on duty?’ Evie said, her tone incredulous.
‘Um . . .’ Grace glanced at her watch. ‘So are you. Better hurry if you don’t want to be late.’
‘I don’t believe you, Gracie.’ Evie shook her head.
Finally, Grace let herself glance at her friend’s expression. It was unreadable.
Evie frog-marched Grace to Matron’s office. She wouldn’t hear any argument. When Grace pleaded with her to ‘leave it be’, she gave Grace such a terrifyingly grim smile that Grace’s voice dried up. Suddenly, she wasn’t frightened of Matron or even of Dr Palmer, she was frightened of Evie.
‘You simply must do something,’ Evie said crisply, and pulled on Grace’s arm all the way to the office.
Grace was braced for the feelings of terror and worthlessness that always accompanied a trip to Matron’s office, but she wasn’t prepared for her inability to form a coherent sentence. When Matron peered at her over her glasses and said, ‘What is this about, Nurse?’ she only managed to stammer ‘improper behaviour’ before her voice disappeared.
Evie’s voice was clear as she stepped in to describe the incident last night, her tone imperious enough to match Matron’s. When she named Dr Palmer, Grace expected Matron to throw them out of the office there and then.
Grace had expected disbelief. She’d expected to be in trouble. She’d expected anger. So when Matron’s nostrils flared and her eyebrows shot upwards, she felt tremors of fear. This was an enormous mistake. She was going to be dismissed. Sent home in disgrace, with no job, no qualification, no reference.
Matron seemed to be mastering her fury before Grace’s very eyes. Grace’s fingers had found her bluebird brooch, settled in her pocket, and she held it tight. It was her favourite thing and biggest source of comfort – besides Evie.
And then Matron said something surprising to Grace. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No,’ she said. It was such a simple and obvious question, but she had not expected to hear it. She blinked rapidly to stop herself from blubbing and squeezed the brooch harder, so that the pointed wings dug into her skin.
Matron was shaking her head but not, it seemed, at them. ‘This was going to happen sooner or later. Like a time bomb, that one. I warned them . . .’
‘He’s got form?’ Evie said.
Grace gaped. Matron might’ve been acting peculiarly, but that was unbelievable cheek.
Matron must’ve thought so, too, as she tilted her head back and regarded Evie without answering. Then, just when Grace thought that Evie was going to get her papers on the spot, Matron nodded slightly. ‘There was an incident. Last year.’
Evie shrugged as if this was no surprise. ‘I know the type,’ she said. ‘And his sort never give up.’
‘I won’t have it,’ Matron said, straightening further in her seat so that she appeared to grow a couple of inches.
Grace took a step back, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Matron to explain that she meant she wouldn’t have jumped-up nurses spreading malicious rumours about the doctors.
‘I was given assurances that this would never happen again,’ Matron said quietly. ‘Promises were made—’ She broke off. ‘You two run along now. Nurse Kemp . . .’ She took a piece of notepaper and wrote rapidly on it for a minute. ‘Take this and give it to Sister Bennett. You’re to have three days’ compassionate leave. I’m sorry it’s not longer, but we’re stretched as always.’
Grace took the thin sheet of paper.
Then Matron Clark did something even more unexpected. She patted Grace’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’
Outside the office, Evie’s grim smile was still in place. Grace re-read the note from Matron, gripping it tightly as evidence that she wasn’t losing her mind, that the past ten minutes had, in fact, happened.
‘Come on.’ Evie was towing Grace behind her again. Outside, they walked in the garden, around the back of the glasshouse and as far away from the main building as possible. There was a low stone wall that ran along behind the vegetable garden and they sat on this while they talked over the meeting.
‘As long as she does something about him.’ Evie shook two cigarettes from a packet and lit them both, passing one to Grace.
‘She said she would.’ Grace’s adrenaline was draining away, to be replac
ed by the more familiar feeling of dread. ‘What if she doesn’t? What if he’s allowed to stay?’ She shuddered. ‘He’ll kill me if he knows I’ve told.’ She meant it only as an expression, but once the words were in the air they took on a horrible air of truth.
‘I won’t let him,’ Evie said firmly.
‘But he’s a doctor,’ Grace said, despair taking over, ‘they won’t make him leave.’
‘They will. I promise.’
‘How can you be sure, though?’ Grace put her head in her hands. She had awful images of meetings in Matron’s office, Dr Palmer on the other side of the desk, his mouth lifted at the corners in a parody of a smile. Dr Palmer lying through his teeth until Grace was branded a troublemaker and a liar.
Evie rubbed Grace’s back in small circles as she puffed her cigarette. ‘If they don’t make him leave, I’ll go to the papers,’ she said.
‘What?’ Grace straightened up. Evie was always saying the most unexpected things.
‘I know a newspaperman. I’ll go to him and he’ll do a piece on it.’ Evie waved her hand airily as if it was as good as done. The trail of smoke formed the shape of a bird’s wing and then disappeared. ‘If there’s one thing Matron hates more than nurses, it’s gossip. I’ll tell her the hospital’s name will be splashed all over the dailies and she’ll jump to it.’
‘Can you really—’
‘Not that it will come to that.’ Evie rubbed Grace’s back faster. ‘You saw Matron. She’s furious.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Grace said. ‘I never expected . . .’
‘I know.’ Evie leaned down and stubbed out her cigarette on the path, pocketing the butt. ‘The old dragon has a heart after all.’
Grace thought about going home. Three days’ leave gave her ample time, after all. In that moment, she realised that she’d been using her lack of off-duty as an excuse. She hadn’t felt ready to face her parents or her old home, which was now and for ever tainted with the memory of that terrible night. Now, with the time to spare, she looked herself square in the mirror and admitted that she didn’t want to see them. Not even with her starched cuffs and her new hospital vocabulary. Not even, she realised, if Matron gave her a certificate of merit and three badges to sew on her apron.
In the Light of What We See Page 25