Eden Summer

by Liz Flanagan

  ‘You’re not fit to touch her. Emo scum.’

  My reactions were too slow. I pushed back onto my knees and tried to stand. I thought they’d finished. I’d touched his girl. He’d hit me. We were done here.

  I went to get up, but there was something wrong. My body didn’t move right. If I could just get up …

  The lad jerked back, but not like he was leaving. His weight shifted backwards, with focus and momentum, like an Olympic high jumper …

  His foot connected with my ear. Something cracked. The pain was worse.

  Nuclear.

  A mushroom cloud of pain blossoming, red on black.

  Moments passed like years of pain.

  I was flat again. Standing seemed ambitious, but I tried to crawl away, I knew enough to try to crawl away. ‘Please … Don’t …’ My fingers slipped on warm stickiness and cold concrete.

  A girl’s foot appeared right next to my face, in a black, heeled boot. I could see the scuff marks on the toe. Was this help? Was this finally someone coming to stop it? I squinted up, searching for a hand, something to grab, a lifeline.

  ‘Here,’ she said.

  My heart heaved with relief.

  Then it hit me: a warm gobbet of spit, right across my face.

  The boot disappeared and kicked my hands away. My chin hit gravel. The next kick left me gasping: fish on a slab. I curled up. Hands over head. Whatever I did, I left something exposed and that’s where they hit me next.

  Chest. Back. Shin.

  Rib. Rib. Cheek.

  Pain went off the scale. There had never been pain, till now.

  I heard a shriek like a vixen. Laughter.

  ‘Car!’

  ‘Come on. Now.’

  ‘End it.’

  Hands lifted me and I groped blindly, like someone capsized. Which way was up? A crack of vision returned. They swung me out into the road, towards the tunnel. A car coming.

  A car.

  Rain in headlights.

  Light.

  Light meant help.

  By the time the driver saw me – arms out, blinded by blood, flying forwards, creased double – it was too late.

  I slammed into the bonnet.

  Fade to black.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Light returned in flashes.

  Sirens.

  Mum’s face, white as paper. Pain was the sea I floated in. Sometimes the waves were high; sometimes it was calmer.

  Machines bleeped. Voices came and went.

  Tides of confusion finally receded, leaving me beached and gasping on a strange trolley bed.

  I felt Mum’s hand touching my forearm. Stroking it. Cotton sheet under me. Pressure around my head. One hand felt strange. My body felt stranger.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘A & E.’

  ‘Why?’ The pain said it was me that was hurt, but I needed to check. ‘Mum, are you OK?’

  ‘Jess!’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t you remember?’

  I sank beneath the waves of pain again.

  Next time I woke, everything was cushioned. I bobbed on the surface of the pain now instead of sinking.

  ‘Is that better?’ Mum asked. ‘They’ve given you stronger meds.’

  She stroked my elbow.

  It was morning now. There were curtains around my bed. I could hear people moving. Someone was groaning.

  I flicked my eyes the other way. There was a window with a smooth silver catch. White sky full of clouds. The rain had stopped. Rain. I almost remembered something, but it twisted away and I was too tired to chase it.

  ‘Oh my Jess,’ Mum said. I’d never seen her like this. She was limp, flat, 2-D. ‘I love you so much,’ she said, kissing my elbow.

  What was it with my elbow?

  My head felt weird. My fingers were in padded gloves. I wrinkled my nose. Mistake. I breathed in and shifted my weight, trying to sit up. Big mistake. The pain shot off the scale.

  I started to panic. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with my face? My hands? I got it now. She was kissing my elbow cos it was the only bit of me that didn’t hurt.

  ‘Mum? What happened?’

  ‘You’ve had a CT scan, love. You’ve got two broken ribs. Your fingers are sprained, not fractured, they said. They’ve stitched up your face. And your ear. They had to shave off some hair, but it’ll grow back in no time …’

  ‘No, I mean, what happened before? Did we crash?’

  The look of horror that crossed her face nearly finished me off.

  ‘You really don’t remember?’

  So Mum gave it back to me, all the parts she knew, from the driver of the car and what my injuries had told the doctors. I had to watch her suffer it, all over again. When she was finished, that made me hate them even more.

  We went home.

  Strange days came next. I slipped in and out of sleep. For someone who’d been in bed for days, I was surprisingly tired.

  Dad, Rachel and the twins came, all the way from London, while I was still very groggy from the meds. Dad tried not to cry in front of me, but through my bedroom wall afterwards I heard Rachel comforting him as he sobbed. The twins were scared of me, and who could blame them, with my bandages and my Darth Vader wheeze? They stood next to my bed and stared at me, perfectly matching, with their beautiful round brown eyes and golden afro pigtails. Hope gave me her lucky white heart-shaped pebble. Esther tried to give me Mr Dog, her small saggy comfort toy, stained beyond recognition from nearly six years of hard loving.

  ‘No, he’d miss you too much. He’s a city dog,’ I managed to whisper. When I opened my eyes again, they were gone.

  Weeks passed. Christmas happened to other people. Mum sat with me, chatting, reading, silent. Sometimes Steph was there: I heard her, talking with Mum downstairs. I ate her cooking.

  Mum took down the bathroom mirror. She wouldn’t let me see the damage, not yet. I didn’t need to. I could see myself reflected in her face. I knew we were both wrecked.

  I was a cracked egg. My brain was a sieve. First I couldn’t stay awake: exhausted twenty-four-seven. Then I progressed to exhausted and restless. Jumpy as a box of frogs. Rattling with painkillers. Now I didn’t want to sleep because of what waited there. I told Mum not to let anyone come round, but she chose her moment to ignore me.

  ‘Jess? Can I come in?’ It was Eden’s voice.

  My tidal wave of panic rose – nothing new, it came crashing through twice a day at least – making my throat dry, my stomach twist. If I hadn’t been slumped on the sofa, my jelly legs would’ve joined the panic party.

  I heard Mum whisper, ‘Go on in,’ and then, ‘Jess? It’s Eden!’ as if I didn’t bloody know. Mum fussed in, zapping the TV to silent, tugging the curtains open.

  ‘Mum! Back off. What are you doing?’ I flinched from the light like a vampire, furious with her. It was too soon! How dare she decide when I was ready to see people?

  I guessed what she was playing at. The doctor had hinted I should be doing better by now. The physio said I could take on more of my daily activities. I thought the psychologist looked plain worried.

  I turned my head into the cushions, so I didn’t have to see Eden’s disgust when she looked at me. If I’d known, I’d have put on make-up, a scarf, anything to hide behind.

  ‘Hey, J,’ Eden’s voice said quietly, somewhere near my unmangled ear.

  I waited for her to ask me how I was, so I could laugh.

  ‘Thanks for letting me visit. I’ve missed you. People send love. Here …’

  Rustling.

  Not a card. Not a pity card signed by the whole class. Please.

  ‘Magazines. And I went to the sweet shop on the way up, got all your favourites in a two-quid mix. And … some DVDs, new ones we’ve not seen.’

  I didn’t move.

  ‘I’m not staying. Mum and Iona have gone on some lame museum trip, and I’m going to the football with Dad.’

  I hadn’t even known it was the weekend.

  ‘But any
way … I’ll come back on Monday after school, if that’s OK?’

  I didn’t speak.

  Her hand found my hand. Her little finger managed to wiggle its way around my little finger. Our secret signal from years back, from juniors. She squeezed once and waited.

  I couldn’t do much, but I could do that. I squeezed back.

  Monday after school, Eden was back.

  I was prepared this time. Full make-up, right up to the edge of the cotton scarf I’d wrapped around my head. The fabric covered most of the mess. So what if it made me look like a cancer patient?

  And credit to Eden, she didn’t even blink at my freak-chic. She acted as if nothing had changed. ‘Hey, J. So, they made me bring you stuff: updates on the lessons you’ve missed, and homework.’ She pulled a folder out of her bag and tossed it on the floor. ‘What you do with that is your business. I’m not saying a word. I’m just the messenger pigeon.’ She turned and smiled, looking directly in my face.

  It was too much, like sudden sunlight in a dark room. She was too much. Too normal. Too much energy. She hurt my eyes and I had to look away.

  ‘Hey, guess what? New lad in Year Twelve. Geeky but gorgeous. Imo’s taking aim …’ Eden launched into a stream of school gossip. When it ran out, she looked around my bedroom. I knew it was a stinking pit. Piles of books and ’zines. Crumpled tops and leggings strewn on the floor. Cups of tea turning grey under the bed. Old toast furred with mould. It was a battleground between me and Mum, but this week I was winning. This week I was very angry, and I couldn’t blame her for backing off.

  ‘So, your mum reckons you’re doing really well. She said maybe we could go for a walk?’

  Double take. I hadn’t left the house in weeks, unless Mum was driving me to a health appointment. I hadn’t left the house since. And I wasn’t doing well. I wasn’t doing anything.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  I stared at her.

  ‘You can walk, right?’

  ‘Yeah. But it still hurts.’

  ‘Jess, you can’t stay inside forever. We won’t go far. I’ll be with you. Just to the end of the road?’

  Why was she doing this? She had no clue. Had Mum put her up to it? I needed to hide. I couldn’t go outside. Couldn’t she see I was broken? Stuff happened outside. Those people could hurt me, outside.

  Actually those particular people couldn’t hurt anyone else, anywhere, since they’d been caught on the station’s CCTV as they legged it for the train. Plus witnesses heard them boasting about bashing an emo, saw the bloodstains, called the police. They were arrested off the train as it pulled in to Manchester Victoria.

  It didn’t help.

  Then I had a thought: if the pain got worse, I could take one of the strong pills, the ones that made me sleep so deeply I didn’t dream.

  ‘OK.’

  She looked pleased. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  I let her help me up. She was good at this, I realized with surprise. Patient. Letting me go at my own pace. Asking me what I needed instead of guessing.

  It took a while to get downstairs.

  ‘We’re going out.’ I said it harshly, still cross with Mum.

  ‘OK, love. Got your phone?’ she said in a voice that might’ve sounded normal to anyone else. She looked so grateful she might cry, but I knew full well she’d be pacing like a caged lion till I was back safe.

  As I started down the hallway towards the front door, pale winter sunlight pouring through its glass pane, I began to doubt if I’d make it. I used the wall for support and my sweaty palm left a damp smear along it. My legs were shaking so hard I had to stop.

  ‘You can do it, Jess,’ Eden said, behind me. ‘Listen, it’s never going to be this hard again, right? The first time only happens once, so let’s get it over and done with.’

  ‘Who put you in charge?’ I muttered, but I latched on to her words. She was right. I didn’t have to go far. Then I’d be owed one of the good pills and I could hide for the rest of the day.

  I put my hand on the door handle and pulled it open.

  Air, light and sound broke upon me like waves crashing down. A car going past. Birds singing. Footsteps and voices coming up the road. So ordinary; so overwhelming.

  I stood there, sucking in cold lungfuls of air.

  The last time I did this, we went out into the dark and rain. We ran, laughing, down the road. We had no idea what was waiting for me.

  What might be waiting today?

  ‘I can’t,’ I said, half-turning.

  ‘Yes, you can.’ Eden blocked the doorway. ‘Come on. Just a few more steps. Just to the end of the street?’

  I shook my head, gasping, wondering if I could dodge past her like a rugby player. Was this madness? Was I crossing the line into complete, barking insanity?

  ‘Jess, please?’ Eden crumpled, losing the attitude. ‘I want you back. I know you can’t help it and you can’t rush it, but please? Just take the first step, so I know you’re coming back, and then I’ll wait, as long as it takes, I promise … Jess, please. I can’t bear it, not when it’s my fault that it happened.’

  That shocked me into stillness. ‘What?’ I couldn’t even work out what she meant by that. But the begging landed better than sternness. Eden needed me. Maybe I could do this for her, even if I couldn’t do it for me.

  My cat dashed through my legs, as if he knew I needed someone to follow.

  ‘OK.’ I inhaled. The cold air on my cheeks was raw and unforgiving. I stepped down off our doorstep, into our little terraced street that ran uphill, at a right angle to the main road at the top. I stood, shaking, on the weathered flagstone outside the house. I felt naked, exposed, an insect wiggling madly with its wings pulled off.

  Nothing happened.

  Fluff stood there, nose twitching in the cold air, and then he stalked off up the street with his tail waving.

  Eden offered her arm and I grabbed it. Like two old ladies, we trudged slowly up my street. I looked at my feet, in boots, instead of slippers, for a change. I kept my head down and plodded, counting the steps to hold it together. My ribs were on fire. Sweat trickled down my back. My head hurt badly – going off like a fire alarm wired into my brain. Finally we reached the top of the street.

  I stood there, panting, trying to accept that this was my life now. The old Jess was gone. This trembling ghost girl was what I’d become. I looked around me, clinging to Eden like she was my life raft. A few kids were playing, further along. A white van was parallel parking opposite. Monday teatime, nothing special.

  If we turned left, in a minute or two we’d be back there, where it happened.

  There, in the rain, seeing them approach … their laughter … I had to run. I had to flee.

  ‘No!’ With a moan, I pulled away from Eden’s arm. Panic gave me wings. I stumbled, and then I ran. Adrenalin surged through me. I made it back to the house in seconds, falling through the door, into the hall, into the kitchen.

  ‘Jess? Jess? What happened?’

  I sank down in the far corner, against the fridge. I pulled my knees up and curled tight, ignoring the pain as I creased forwards.

  Eden tumbled in. ‘I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Jess. You weren’t ready. I shouldn’t’ve pushed it.’

  I buried my head on my knees and made a noise I didn’t recognize. A ball of pain and fear. Eden and Mum knelt down, one on each side. There with me. Living through it, with me.

  Eden was right though. It was never as hard again. And that mad dash back to the house? That’s what first gave me the idea that I needed to be fast. I needed to be able to run.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘There you go. The full story, Liam Caffrey.’ I wiped my face. ‘The Unfortunate History of Jessica Mayfield.’ Salt tears in my scar, again.

  He’d held my wrist the whole time. Even when his eyes filled too. Even when a tear ran down his cheek and dripped off his chin.

  Now he let go, just for a minute. He grabbed the loose f
ront of his old red T-shirt and used it to wipe his face. ‘Blood, sweat and tears, today, eh?’ he joked softly. ‘Oh, Jess.’

  I looked at him fiercely. I did not want his pity.

  ‘It’s the past,’ he said. ‘It’s done.’

  ‘It’s not. The scars won’t go. Not completely. Not ever.’

  ‘So? Nowt wrong wi’ scars.’ Liam held my wrist and bent to it, closer, lower. His cropped hair was white gold in the moonlight. He paused. ‘We’ve all got ’em.’

  I lifted my wrist to meet his mouth. He kissed me, soft and warm, on the exposed skin. On my racing pulse. Afterwards, again, he waited. He held my wrist and watched me.

  There was no one to see, just the bright swelling moon and the laden plum tree and the hidden owl in the wood. We could hear the distant bass and voices spilling from Eden’s party.

  It was me who moved. My hand touched his cheek, saying yes. His face. His cat’s eyes.

  I screwed my eyes tight shut. The look in his eyes was too much. I reached for him blindly. My fingers crossed his chest, its warm drum beating faster. I stroked his bare arms: the warm skin, the solidness of him. My fingers danced up his neck. My knuckles grazed his cheekbones. One fingertip crossed his lips, and he kissed it.

  His breath, warm on my ear, sending shivers down my spine. That breath, catching, jagging, speeding – just for me.

  His fingers moved up my arm, tracking the lines of my tattoos, taking time over each one. I had a million nerve endings I’d never known about, more than stars in the sky. My skin was alive and breathing again. My skin wanted to be touched.

  He sought out my scars. I felt his fingers, coarse at the tips but so gentle, lightly sliding across my face to where the skin was ridged. He caressed the wave of scar tissue by my ear.

  I opened my eyes then, to check this was real. My eyes on his. His eyes on mine. And the air between us, so close and thick. Like the tension before a storm, it crackled. I felt it, between us.

  There was still time. I could break the spell. I could move away, not much harm done. Just the line between us crossed and we knew it. He waited for me.

  I held his gaze as I crossed it again. I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles, shredded and torn.

  I kissed him because I wanted to. I kissed him because I needed it. And when he kissed me back, that was it. I didn’t know anything else, except his mouth on mine and our hands moving, and time flickering and flowing around us so smooth and so fast, like the river running deep over rocks.