by Louise Beech
‘I promise I’ll explain it all to Mrs White,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this Bradley? I could have come in and sorted it out. You don’t have to push me away all the time. Why do you always fight me when we’re on the same side?’
No answer.
‘Shall I go and talk to Mrs White and come back for you?’
After a moment the sound of sliding latch bounced off the tiles and the door opened a crack. Rose peered out, her thin face smudged with chocolate flapjack. It was like I viewed her with new eyes. I saw how emaciated she still was, how lank her hair, how dark the lines beneath her eyes.
When Jake had been away for months and came home, I often saw new things in his features – new lines, new freckles, new whiskers, new life. Whatever absence does to the heart, it does more to the eyes. It opens them. It was as though Rose had been gone months too and now I saw her. Really saw her; what she was going through, her bravery, her flawed beauty.
My love bubbled to the surface. I felt sure she’d feel it too and held out arms for her to fall into. But she wiped her mouth and blew her hair off her face and said, ‘Mum, Mrs White hates me. She’s going to kill me.’
‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s go and sort this out. You do know your blood sugars will be high at lunchtime?’
‘Doesn’t matter. You said I get to look at Grandad Colin’s diary.’
I had forgotten it, neglected our lunchtime pact. ‘It’s at home,’ I said. ‘I left in such a rush. We’ll worry about that later.’
‘But you promised,’ she pouted. The bell sounded; feet scurried past the door, shook the tiles beneath us. ‘You can’t like say things and then …’
‘For God’s sake, let’s just see Mrs White first.’ I guided her firmly out of the toilets. ‘You’ll have to say sorry to the boy if they want you to,’ I said, adding quickly when she reacted with a scowl, ‘but I’ll make sure they know what he’s been saying to you first.’
Children swarmed past us, heading for whichever classroom or hall they were supposed to attend. Mrs White opened her office door and ushered us inside, expression grim, glasses clinging on. We sat, separated from her by an orderly desk where files had been placed on one side of the computer screen and a keyboard on the other. I used to be that tidy; I used to keep my house beautifully clean.
‘Rose is sorry for hurting the child – Bradley, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘But I would like you to know that he’s been bullying her since she came back to school, saying some rather vile and upsetting things. Obviously if he’s sorry we can put it behind us and move on.’
Next to me, Rose fidgeted and picked her nose, looking everywhere but at Mrs White.
‘I’m sure you’ll understand that I cannot permit vigilantism in my school,’ said Mrs White. ‘Rose should have come to one of her teachers and we could have dealt with Bradley in an appropriate manner. Taking the law into her own hands and using violence is not the answer.’
‘I understand that,’ I said, trying to keep my voice even. ‘But children don’t always have the courage to speak up when being bullied. She only reacted so angrily because he said she’s going to die. Can’t you have a little compassion and see that Rose has recently been diagnosed with a serious medical condition and is still coming to terms with it?’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ said Mrs White. ‘All of my staff have been understanding and helpful with this, as have I. But I cannot excuse violence, nor, of course, the theft.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I snapped. Rose stopped fidgeting. ‘You’re going to call it theft? I pay for her school lunches! She just had it a bit early. Not to be condoned, I agree, but diabetes can make you hungry at random moments.’
‘Didn’t Rose have snacks with her?’ asked Mrs White.
I looked at Rose. She nodded, said softly, ‘I ate them all at playtime.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘The diabetes nurse told us Rose will be hungry for weeks while her body gets back to normal. She can’t help wanting to eat. It’s not just like when you or I feel hungry.’
Mrs White closed her eyes before speaking and clasped her hands in front of her on the desk as if to prevent them from strangling me. ‘I understand all of this, I do. But I cannot bend the rules for one child and not for another. Violence and theft are serious issues. So I have no choice but to suspend Rose from school for a week. I ask that you take her home now. Extra work will be forwarded to you.’
‘That’s it?’ I was stunned; it was all I could think to say.
‘It might do Rose good,’ said her head teacher. ‘She can recover fully at home, take some time to deal with her new situation, and then come back to school feeling a lot better.’
‘She already had time off,’ I said. ‘What if I want her here? It’s better for her to be with friends than sitting at home thinking about diabetes?’
‘Clearly she needs more time away,’ said Mrs White.
‘Oh, don’t make out now that you’re doing this to be kind,’ I snapped.
‘My only concern is for my pupils,’ she insisted.
I stood up. ‘Right, if that’s it, we shall be on our way.’ I helped Rose up. ‘I will be taking this to someone higher than you, I can assure you of that. I’m not sure of your policy on disability but I doubt it allows discrimination. Rose will return when your school learns a little sensitivity in handling a child with a very serious medical condition. You’ll be hearing from me.’
With as much dignity as I could manage, I guided Rose out of the office and closed the door softly, before marching her down the corridor to the exit. She fidgeted out of my grip and bounced alongside me, asking over and over if she had now left school forever. I shook my head, more to loosen my anger than to negate Rose. Thank God Jake probably wouldn’t be ringing anytime soon; he’d only called a week ago so it might be a fortnight or more until the next time. How on earth would I tell him that she’d now been excluded from school?
No – I’d taken her out of school. Removed her because they didn’t understand the implications of diabetes. Made a stand against it. No. No that wasn’t it at all, and I knew it. I had taken the frustration at what was going on in my own life and rolled it into a ball and thrown it at the school? Was I excusing Rose too easily or standing up for her?
In the car I sat a moment. I wanted so badly to hit the steering wheel and shout fuck over and over, but I resisted. Rose always took the seat next to me when Jake was away, promoted to my other half. She watched me; emotion flickered behind her gilded irises. Was it admiration? Surprise? Confusion?
‘You really told Mrs White off!’ she grinned.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m not excusing that you pushed a boy over – that wasn’t nice. And I can’t condone you locking yourself in that toilet and causing a scene. So don’t think I’m happy about it. But I do think the school are being overly harsh.’
Once home Rose skipped about the place. My scene with Mrs White seemed to have lightened everything. Would it last? Had I done the right thing? How would this affect Rose’s education, her future?
At lunchtime she brought Colin’s diary to me, holding it reverently with her thin fingers. ‘You promised,’ she said.
‘We need to read your blood then,’ I said.
Her eyes clouded over. That part of the bargain had been forgotten in the excitement and I felt terrible reminding her that this wasn’t merely the fun sharing of a fairy tale.
She brought the diabetes box and I followed her to the book nook. Grey clouds had swallowed the sun, and the corner was gloomy. On opposite cushions we faced each other. I prepared the finger pricker, and she opened and closed her fist. I’d read that this makes blood circulate more freely, so it flows better.
Neither of us spoke.
I pierced her fingertip; she cried out. Quickly I opened a random page and read the neat handwriting there; we’d not agreed to select words that way but it felt somehow right, somehow fated, and Rose didn’t argue.
I use
d to see my mother at night sometimes. In the dark I’d look at the shadowy heaps – the other lads, what was left of them – and wonder if they longed for their mothers too. The younger ones cried out for them. Only eighteen some, so no wonder. I used to wonder if her name came from my mouth when I slept. Might’ve been embarrassed if I’d had the energy. Grown men aren’t supposed to want their mums, are they? Not a great lunk like me anyway. I still saw myself that way – big lunk. But I knew from looking around me during the day that I couldn’t be. Used to see my own physique in the other lads’ skinny frames. They were my mirrors. Horrible mirrors they were. Horrible, horrible.
‘Don’t stop,’ said Rose, when I did.
‘You need to eat something.’ I closed the diary carefully, my heart swollen with sadness. Perhaps I didn’t have the easier side of our trade after all. Sharing this story might break me. ‘Eat now and we’ll do your injection.’
‘Let me look at the book,’ she said, reaching out. ‘How far in was this bit? What happened just before? Where was …’
‘No, let’s wait. Let’s do it one bit at a time. Like we said.’
‘I never agreed to do it like that,’ she cried. ‘All out of order and stupid.’
‘Don’t you think it’s a good idea?’ I held the diary to my chest. ‘Random. Like when you throw a dice. I’ll tell you the big story in the right order as it only works that way, but maybe at lunchtime when we look at Colin’s own words we should let the pages open. Like maybe he’s picking them.’
Rose considered it. I could tell she pretended to think long and hard so I’d know it was actually an awful idea I’d had and that she was very gracious to permit it. She nodded then and looked at the diabetes box.
‘So another page with my injection?’ she urged.
I agreed. She remained in the book nook while I made ham sandwiches. I wondered who I would most long for if I were lost at sea. As though reading my mind, Rose called, ‘I reckon people only want their mums cos they grew in their tummies. But anyone can love you. You don’t have to be born out of them or in the same family. What about friends?’
‘Friends are important,’ I said. ‘Some people reckon they’re the family you choose – which I kind of like.’
I sat cross-legged on the opposite cushion with her sandwiches.
‘I’m ready,’ Rose said, offering up her thigh. White flesh was marked with bruises; some fresh, some older, all small, like a dot-to-dot puzzle not yet solved. And I had no choice but to add another. After pushing the milky insulin into her skin, I grabbed the diary.
‘Just any page?’ I asked, making sure.
‘Any page,’ she said.
I let one fall open and read aloud; like a backing singer Rose repeated the odd word in a whispery echo after it had emerged from my mouth.
The sea is full of life. You’re not really alone out there. If animals could talk you’d never want for conversation. We saw turtles and dolphins and whales – and of course the dreaded sharks. We saw shoals of fish so colourful you’d think you’d finally lost your mind and imagined them. I remember these great silver fish – maybe a foot in length – that liked to follow the raft. They stayed in our boat’s shadow, so maybe they liked our shade. Maybe they thought we in our strange vessel might offer protection from the bigger fish. Sometimes when I felt really rotten I wanted to shout at them that there was no point – we couldn’t help them or ourselves. We were just nobodies, floating on our boat, waiting for death.
When I stopped, Rose said, ‘I told you animals are the best characters’ and then she disappeared upstairs.
We moved the rest of the afternoon as though to catch the other out. I hovered by her bedroom door, hoping she’d come out and ask what we might do together. When I went downstairs to make a cup of tea or answer the phone, she scurried along the landing to the toilet and then back to the sanctuary of her room. I didn’t like to knock in case it irritated her further.
How was I going to fill the days ahead between telling Colin’s story? Rose would have to go back to school. This was harder than being on my own, knowing my daughter occupied the same space and chose anything but my company. If she was at school I could at least pretend our relationship was how it had been before diabetes.
When we returned to the book nook at teatime, the morning’s playful and bouncy mood was gone. Rose didn’t bring the diabetes box and she sat on a different cushion to the one she’d occupied earlier, as though to tell me not to get complacent, to show that I wasn’t in charge of her. Once again she was the floppy, dead-eyed creature who had replaced my daughter.
I brought a plate of beef casserole to eat where we sat and then read her blood. She sucked her finger, scowling. The machine said her blood sugar was fifteen-point-nine so I injected her arm this time, and she ate her tea.
‘The story then,’ she demanded.
‘Okay, so … well, once upon a …’
‘What did I say about that?’ Rose pushed her plate away. ‘I won’t eat if you say once upon a time.’
‘Okay … um, well, Colin wasn’t alone for long,’ I said.
‘Really?’ Rose’s eyes shone. ‘Who’s coming? Who’s he found?’
‘Let’s go and find out,’ I said.
Then, just like that morning, I tried to make magic. From somewhere I found the story, and I tried to share it how Rose wanted.
We returned to the lifeboat, to the dark. And the diabetes box and the needles and Rose’s bleeding finger and bruised skin floated away, and the sound of the ocean swelled and rose around us, and Colin whistled, and I knew the words.
9
A SKY FULL OF STARS
Many went down with ship.
K.C.
When Colin woke he thought perhaps he’d died. All he saw was a sky full of stars and he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t up there with them, heavenly. Then he felt the hard surface of the boat against his back and the cold spray of sea. An acute and sudden depression gripped his chest. He shook his head. He’d fight. So he sat up and looked about.
Still night. A half-moon emerged from the clouds as though making sure he was still there. I am, Colin thought. He wasn’t sure if the thought came as relief or as regret. Any joy at surviving this far was dampened by the knowledge that it was no feat, that greater tests lay ahead.
After a while a sound different to the monotonous swish of the ocean rose over it. At first Colin thought he’d imagined it. Then he spotted a dark shape, perhaps ten yards from the boat. It moved, slowly, closer. A shark? Colin shrank back. No, the clumsy movement was too human.
‘Ahoy there!’ he called, joy making him tremble. ‘Can you hear me? Say something if you can! I can hardly see you! Hello there! Are you deaf?’
The shape came closer.
‘Hold on,’ called Colin. ‘Just hold on.’ He searched desperately in the blackness for oars and finding none he paddled with his hands, trying to close the distance between the boat and the shape as quickly as possible. By some luck, waves pushed the shape against the raft and Colin reached down to haul it in.
‘Do something to help, chum,’ he urged.
It took an age to get the dead weight into the vessel and when it was finally aboard Colin panted with labour. Then he rolled the shape over and peered into a familiar face. It was Kenneth Cooke, the ship’s carpenter.
‘It’s you, Chippy.’ It was the affectionate nickname the crew had often used. ‘Thank God.’
Now safe, Ken passed out. Colin wrapped his body around his mate to warm and revive him. He rubbed his hands and feet, and encircled his chest with his arms to share what little body heat he had.
Ken had been aboard the Lulworth Hill since her voyage began in Hull. Though not particularly close, the two men had mutual respect for one another, and Colin could not have wished for a more sturdy and reliable man to have as companion and fellow passenger now.
‘Thank God,’ he repeated. ‘I thought I might be on me own for the long haul. I imagined a very lonely fight
, chum.’
Colin began to whistle. His melancholy song pierced the night. It must have roused Ken for he stirred, shook his head and murmured something unintelligible.
‘Am I ever glad to see you,’ said Colin.
‘Oh, I am too,’ rasped Ken.
‘I thought the current was gonna take you the other way.’
‘Colin Armitage?’ Ken sat up with effort. ‘I thought it was you, lad. Couldn’t be happier to see you. Good to hear a Hull accent.’ He paused, looked out across the black ocean. ‘Did it really happen?’
‘It did,’ said Colin softly.
‘Have you seen anyone else?’
‘Not since she sank.’
‘I jumped off the bow – how about you?’
‘Same,’ said Colin. ‘We must’ve been minutes apart.’
Ken sat up straight suddenly. ‘I saw the enemy sub that sunk us,’ he cried, as though remembering.
‘You did?’ Colin frowned.
‘Yes.’ Ken spoke grimly. ‘I was in the water with the ship’s gunner, name of Hull funnily enough. There were three red lights flickering, so we swam towards them. I thought I was delirious. Then a white light blinded me. Thought I’d met my maker, I tell you. But it was a sub. Not one of ours. German. Oh, my heart sank. But I thought, well, better than nowt. And I scrambled aboard.’ Ken paused, shivering violently.
Colin huddled closer to him, said, ‘Come on, Chippy, rest now. Talking’s exhausting you.’
Ken shrugged him off, cried angrily, ‘No, let me! I might not remember it all tomorrow. These men came out and Gunner Hull got taken inside. The Captain spotted me. He spoke good English and asked lots of questions; what cargo were we carrying, how many crew, what was my rank. I answered truthfully. What was the point in not? He said Gunner Hull was a soldier and they’d taken him prisoner. But I was a civilian and I should die.’