Her Living Image

by Jane Rogers

  Carolyn turned her heavy-as-lead head sideways and let her sight fall on the thick rectangles of carpet. Buttermilk. Mushroom. Sahara. She couldn’t care less. “Yes,” she said. “Sahara.” She could feel her mother looking at her, and feel the oppressive weight of her anxiety. Sound more – enthusiastic. “Yes, it’s nice. Thank you.” She watched her mother purse her lips, close the heavy carpet book and wrestle to get it into her bag again. Her mother looked up brightly.

  “Well. What’ve you been up to since yesterday?”

  Carolyn felt terribly miserable. She felt like crying. She wished her Mum would go away. “Nothing much. I had some ice-cream at dinner time.”

  “That’s nice. The food’s not really so bad is it, not compared to what it used to be. They’ve got it quite nice in here really. There’s a good view you know, from that window down there – when you get up and about.”

  Pause.

  “You don’t mind your Dad not coming with me today, do you love? He sends you his love and everything, but he’s not too good in hospitals, he really isn’t, they get him all jittery. Men, eh? And there’s not that much room for two visitors anyway, is there? We can make it nice and cosy with just the two of us, and have a bit of a natter. No point everyone sitting round like lemons with nothing to say, is there?”

  Pause.

  “Anything else you’d like me to bring, Carolyn? The sister says you can read if you like, they’ll do you one of those frames – you know, like –”

  Carolyn moved her head once to the side, shorthand for shaking it, and tears started to roll down her face.

  “What is it? Carolyn? What’s the matter? Does it hurt? Where does it hurt you?”

  She was miserably hopelessly alone and afraid, and her mother’s worried face and kind offers were so far away they seemed like mockery. Her mother couldn’t help her, couldn’t touch her. Would go home and leave her here. Her mother didn’t know what it was like.

  As Meg came day after day trying more and more anxiously to cheer Carolyn up and get her out of herself, with news of the outside world and comings and goings at the woolshop, Carolyn became more and more unresponsive, sullen or weepy. She didn’t want her mother to come. Obscurely, she blamed her. Carolyn had never been away from Meg so much as a night, before.

  She had other visitors. Alan came with a great bunch of roses. He sat by the bed and smiled at her and held her hand. The A levels were in full swing, but once he had told her about the questions there wasn’t much to say. His roses wilted overnight and died without opening. It was the same with Mandy. She came full of gossip about who was going out with who and what so-and-so said they’d put in the such-and-such exam, and it was all tiny and quite unreal to Carolyn. She couldn’t be bothered with it, they seemed like small yacketing dolls. She had missed her exams, school was over, their lives were all going on and she was stuck here. None of them knew what it was like. She didn’t care what they were doing. She felt that she would never escape from the hospital. They were doing different things to her all the time. They put her leg in traction then they took it out. They operated again on her foot. They gave her different drugs. They were going to do a skin graft. She didn’t want them to keep chopping and changing her, she wanted to be left alone. No one ever seemed to tell her what they were doing, they were evasive and in a hurry when she plucked up the courage to ask. It was nothing to do with her, her body. Once when she and Clare were discussing their respective injuries she confessed how much she wanted to see her foot. “I feel as if I don’t know what’s there – I don’t know what I’m like any more.”

  Clare snorted. “Miracles of modern medicine. You can come in here a human being, and go out as Frankenstein’s monster. No –” she corrected herself, “You do come in as a squashed human being –”

  “And get remade into a monster,” repeated Carolyn. “Sewn together with new bits.”

  “Well look at me,” said Clare.

  “I can’t. What will – what’s that for?”

  “This?” Clare raised a paw towards her cage.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s for a fractured middle third of maxilla, so they tell me.”

  “But what does it do?”

  “Sort of external splint, I suppose. Screws into the bone – keeps it in place.”

  Carolyn looked at Clare with real horror. She had thought the cage rested on her face – although clearly that was silly. It had such nice neat white little bandages on its ends. But it went through her flesh – through two holes in her forehead.

  “It’s all right,” said Clare. “It looks worse than it is, I think. But I’ve got an awful craving for real food.” She had to drink mush through a straw because her teeth were fixed together with metal. Carolyn was suddenly conscious of her own good fortune.

  Often she had trouble sleeping, and at night she was more frightened and lonely than ever. Once she woke suddenly in the small hours of the morning, sick with fear. She lay, as she had woken, flat on her back and looked at the ceiling. It was dim and shadowy, but it was slowly lowering itself towards her. Breaking out in sweat she turned her head to the left, to the mustard painted wall which gleamed dully in the shine of the safety lights. It took a step towards her. Turning her head back she saw that the ceiling was lower again, already her body could sense the pressure it would inflict on her, the way it would close and crush –

  Panting with fear she tried to roll over in the bed, but the tight blankets held her pinned in position. She could not move. She could only lie and watch, in the shadowy artificial light, the ceiling and wall creeping noiselessly closer and closer. Into the horror of her helpless solitude came a voice.

  “Sssh. What’s the matter?”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the ceiling which moved more quickly when she looked away. “The ceiling.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” said the muffled voice.

  “It’s coming down – oh – it’s coming –”

  “Hush, hush it’s all right.”

  “No –” sobbing now, “no – no –” The room was closing the walls coming in, she couldn’t breathe, already she was choking, gasping, there was no air no light no space – “No!”

  “All right. It’s all right.” Clare leaned helplessly over her for a moment, then moved to the head of Carolyn’s bed and wound the handle, as she had seen nurses doing. Gradually the wheels came down, lifting the bed silently off its feet. She moved to the other end and pulled the bed out into the centre of the ward, then manoeuvred it down towards the window at the opposite end. “Look,” she whispered. “Look out the window, it’s all right. See the streetlights. See the stars.” Carolyn looked. “Can you see the line of the hills against the sky?”

  Carolyn, whose heart and breath were racing and body shaking with helpless fear, gazed out of the window and saw street, house, star, lamppost, hill, and tried to attach her spinning fear to these stationary things. The quiet night, the shapes of houses, the world and sky asleep. Staring at them, she began to calm, and her breathing to quieten.

  After a while, when Carolyn’s breathing was regular, Clare wheeled the bed about.

  “No – no –” Carolyn’s voice was panic-edged already, at turning in to face those dark gleaming walls. “No!”

  Clare turned her again so that she could anchor her fleeting sight safely out there in the still night streets. Clare stood by her stiffly, watching, until dawn began to make pale the sky, and a nurse walking quietly down the early ward spotted them and hurried them crossly back to their places. Carolyn laid hold of the grey gleam of dawning light on the ceiling as a drowning person grasps a lifebelt. Testing the dark, she closed her eyes –opened them to see that safe morning light – closed, tried again, opened. At last she was able to trust it to stay, and so sleep.

  She remembered her terror vividly in the morning, it was still too real for her to feel embarrassed about it. After the nurse had set up Clare’s reading frame for her, Clare said, “Sleep well?” in her
dry voice.

  “Thank you,” said Carolyn awkwardly. “I don’t know what I would have done – I was –”

  “It’s OK,” said Clare. “All part of the fun. What day is it today?”

  “Thursday.”

  “Thursday? Oh Lord, it’s God’s gift today.”

  “What?”

  “The consultant. Young and handsome. Thinks he’s God’s gift. You watch him with the nurses. Acts as if it’s as big as the Eiffel Tower.”

  Carolyn was embarrassed. Later in the morning the consultant appeared at the end of the ward, accompanied by a flutter of nurses, and strode along bestowing a word or smile on the more likely-looking of his patients.

  “How’re we doing today?” he said blandly to Clare’s bed.

  “Don’t know about you, but I’m great, never felt better,” came the dry voice from behind the scaffolding.

  Carolyn wriggled down under her sheet, blushing for Clare’s daring and trying not to laugh. He blinked at Clare’s bed then smiled.

  “I see. Nurse –” He turned with some technical request about changing Clare’s dressings, and Carolyn saw that he did stare shamelessly at the nurse, so that a faint pink flush came up on her cheekbones.

  He walked on and Clare said softly, “Bet it’s wearing a hole in his pants.”

  The nursing staff, who had been no more than a faceless army who irritated, interrupted, hurt, or occasionally brought relief, were sharply defined by Clare’s distant voice. There was Come Hither, Martinet, the Hairdresser and Vile Chops. “Vile Chops” was an unfair name, and reduced both of them to mild hysteria. She had a way of pressing her lips together and grimacing, which made a slight sucking noise, when agreeing with someone. They both lay rigid, straining their ears, as Martinet gave her instructions for the morning, and tried to stifle their delighted squeaks as she nodded gravely and lisp-sucked her lips.

  Clare was taken away frequently to be X-rayed, and to have her screws tightened and loosened, like a faulty robot. One day she returned and told Carolyn that they were going to take the cage off next week.

  “What then?”

  “Christ knows. Buy a mask, I should think.”

  “Oh, it’ll be all right. It’ll be funny so see your face.”

  “I’m sure it will. I’ll probably die laughing.”

  It had not occurred to Carolyn that she might be serious.

  When Clare was brought back from having her cage removed, Carolyn lay with her eyes ostentatiously closed. She heard the nurses fussing, then going away, and finally Clare’s two-edged voice, “Well, all is revealed.”

  Carolyn opened her eyes. The woman in the next bed looked odd. Her face was white with several fine scratchy scars across it, as if fragments of her face had been sewn together. Two little pieces of gauze were attached to her forehead, as if she were just sprouting antlers.

  “Neat, eh?” said the woman with Clare’s voice, and tears began to run down her face.

  “Don’t Clare – don’t cry –” Carolyn moved ineffectually. She couldn’t get out of bed on her own yet. “Don’t. It’s silly, you’ll be fine, in a bit. You’ll look fine.”

  Despite the tears the voice remained brittle and distant. “Sure. I’ll be fine. A new thatch and you won’t know the difference.”

  Carolyn realized then that the hairstyle was adding to the bizarre effect. She had never noticed it, while the cage was over Clare’s face. Two big patches of Clare’s thick black hair had been shaved around cuts. One was just above her forehead. There was a fuzz of new hair growing there now, but the effect was to make her look as if she had a receding hairline.

  Clare suffered Carolyn’s scrutiny. “I’ll get a mask to go home in,” she said. “Something more attractive – Dracula, or a werewolf, perhaps.”

  “Your hair won’t take long to grow,” said Carolyn gently. “It’s like being a baby again, isn’t it?”

  “Goo goo,” said Clare.

  Chapter 5

  Visiting Carolyn was hard work for Meg. She had to rush back from the shop, grab a bite to eat and put something out for Arthur’s tea, pack her bag with whatever she was taking to the hospital, and get down to the High Street to catch the 344 at six-fifteen. On the bus she had time to remember what Carolyn had said and how she had looked yesterday, and to be filled with miserable apprehension about how she would be today. She didn’t seem to be interested in anything. It was awful, as if the accident had knocked all the life out of her. It’s early days yet, she told herself bravely, but it made the visiting hour into something she looked forward to and dreaded all day long, a twisted choked-up feeling, of loving someone and wanting to please, and them acting as if they don’t want to know you. She tried to explain it to Arthur. “You should ask that doctor,” he said. “Stands to sense, all those drugs and what-have-you they’re pumping into her, she’s bound to be a bit dopey-like.” Meg said she would ask the doctor. She hoped that was it, but she didn’t think it was. When she got home at eight-forty-five she’d have a cup of tea and a sandwich and watch telly for a bit then put herself to bed, and lie awake half the night staring at Carolyn’s sullen shut face, looming out of the darkness. She wanted to hug her and love her and tell her it was all right, and make her laugh. And Carolyn had that horrible distant look on her face, as if she couldn’t be bothered with you, and then sometimes she’d cry and not want you to comfort her – as if you couldn’t comfort her, as if she was beyond it.

  “I said it when she was little and I’ll say it again now,” Meg told Jean. “I remember when she was so poorly with the measles, I said to Arthur, I wish to God I could have it for her – and I feel the same now, I do. I wish that bloody idiot in his van had hit me instead – twice over, instead of her.”

  She asked the sister if she could talk to the doctor, and Martinet said, “Well, what do you want to know? Can’t I help you?” standing there by the end of the bed where Carolyn could hear every word.

  “I’ll leave it for tonight, there’s no hurry,” said Meg, and the woman looked at her as if she was odd and went off to boss someone else about. They treat you like dirt, the snooty bitches. They’re no better than they ought to be, most of them; half of them can’t even bloody well speak English.

  “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” she said to Carolyn’s averted face. “They’ve not got many manners. And how d’you get on with all these Coloureds? It doesn’t make you feel any better, does it, when you’re poorly, to have someone who can’t even speak English mucking you about.”

  Carolyn didn’t say anything. Meg told herself she should be more cheerful.

  “Well, Carolyn, and what are you going to do with yourself when you come home, eh? Time we started making plans, isn’t it, love? I saw your Miss Lomas from school, you know, in the post office, and she said you could go back and do your exams again next summer. Would you like that? I said, well, she’ll be nineteen you know. Carolyn? are you listening?”

  Carolyn nodded.

  I’m going on too much, Meg thought. “Carolyn love – please –”

  “I’m all right,” snapped Carolyn. “Go on.”

  Meg swallowed and went on. “Or you could always go to those evening classes, you know, at the technical college and do . . .”

  The bossy sister was in her little office by the door as visiting hour ended. Meg summoned her courage and went in.

  “I just wanted to ask – to know if it’s normal – you know –for her to be so – depressed. I mean, she’s so miserable, she’s like a different girl.”

  The nurse pulled a face and fidgeted with some papers as if she was busy. “It’s a shock to the system, Mrs –”

  “Tanner.”

  “Mrs Tanner. Isn’t it, an accident like that. It can affect people in all sorts of ways. Upset them. I expect she gets a bit fed up lying there all day, but she’s just got to put up with it, I’m afraid. She’ll be all right.”

  “But those – the medicine, the drugs she’s having, could they make her – you kn
ow, sort of lose interest in life?”

  “She needs a lot of rest, Mrs Tanner. Nurse!” – as a nurse walked past the door. “Excuse me, Mrs Tanner.” And she rushed after the nurse.

  Meg set off on the walk to the bus stop. They treat you like dirt.

  She slept very badly at nights, imagining Carolyn lying in the hospital. The thought of Carolyn being hurt made her cry. And she was powerless to help. Arthur woke up and comforted her. “Come on lass. She’ll be all right. She’ll be home soon.” Meg turned her thoughts to Carolyn coming home. She’d make her room really nice, with that new carpet and a new bedspread; and take some holiday off work and bake some nice food to fatten her up again. It would be all right when she came home. It was being in that awful hospital made her like that. Not that Meg wasn’t grateful for what they’d done for her, it was a matter of life and death when she’d gone in – but now, she was like a different girl. A different girl.

  When her mother left at the end of visiting hour, Carolyn would lie still staring at the ceiling, listening to her heavy tread moving away down the ward and round the corner. Straining her ears she listened for the yielding swish of the swing door, followed by three gentle thuds as it swung back past its closed position, back again, and finally blessedly shut. Her mother was always the last to leave, after they’d rung the bell. Carolyn knew that everyone must stare at her as she left. She wished she would leave on time. Or early, for that matter.

  “Your mother comes every single day,” marvelled Clare.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s wonderful,” said Carolyn, copying Clare’s dry tone. After Clare’s expected laugh, Carolyn was lost for words. “I – she comes because she wants to. She’s my mother.”

  “So?”

  “So – what? Wouldn’t your mother visit, if she lived near?”

  “Not every day she wouldn’t. We’d both go up the wall.”