by Dee Winter
“Yes it’s over. Of course it is. It has to be now. It was already. It has to be after this. After he hit you.”
“Funny how he has to hit me for you to realise.”
“What?” I say a bit hurt.
“Well, you’ve put up with it before now.”
“Yeah, but…”
“So why did you?” I can’t answer. I can’t even say because I loved him because I don’t think I did. I don’t know what it feels like to be in love. It’s a damn good question and I can’t find an answer.
I speak honestly. “Coz I’m stupid, maybe.”
“I wouldn’t say that, you’re not dumb. You’re just too young to know better.”
“Yeah but with you around, I should know better.”
“I’m no example to follow,” he says, obviously not a picture of happiness himself.
“Not by choice.” I say.
“I chose to be with Marcia and having Ruby was never a mistake. My choice to have a baby with Marcia was a mistake.”
“But if it wasn’t for Marcia, there wouldn’t be Ruby.”
“True…”
“Well, when she grows up, then she’ll get to know the truth and she’ll be more independent. You’ll get to see more and more of her, and of course she’ll want to see you.”
“I could be waiting a long time. I shouldn’t have to wait.”
“No, you shouldn’t, but we don’t always get what we want.”
“No, we don’t. You’re right. No matter how hard you try, how easy your try to make things be, something will screw it up.” It’s not often me and Rob gets deep like this but of course, I don’t like hearing the sad and ugly truth. Until Ruby is old enough to make her own choices, this could go on for years. I also worry what the Diaz family might do or say in the meantime to poison Ruby against him. It breaks my heart to see Rob’s being broken. I hope the future won’t be that bleak, but who knows what’s around the corner. I don’t like to think of the future. I just hope and will pray things get better and not get any worse.
I get a bad feeling again deep within, nothing to do with pain, just a sudden unstoppable feeling of impending doom, like the world is closing in on me. It does not help that there are no windows in the airless waiting room. I feel sticky on the red vinyl seat. We are on the lower ground floor at the end of a maze of tunnels. I feel like a coal miner trapped deep underground whose light has gone out with no sense of place or direction. It does not help to dwell on the weekend just past. It hasn’t been a bunch of daisies for me either. The Saturday night fiasco to start. Rob hasn’t seen Ruby all weekend. Then the fight with Benny, the flat is wrecked and now we’ve both ended up in hospital. I feel so bad and guilty. I cannot wait to get back home to start clearing up all that mess in the flat. Get my cleaning kit out again, pink rubber gloves on, blue bucket in hand, hot water, disinfectant, yellow sponge and start to get to work. That should be the last thing on my mind but right now I’m not able to keep my thoughts still, I never am. My mind is jumping all over the place, a little locked box of Mexican jumping beans.
I feel guiltier still as thoughts of Etienne keep popping into my head. His pure beauty and the fun we had followed by his hasty exit. After all this, I hope I will see him again. Then I think of Heather. What must she think? Talk about neighbours from hell. I wonder if she will even speak to us again. I am optimistic she will. She made that offer just before we drove off. I hope it was genuine. Everyone has it in them to lie. I’m not naïve. I think I could spot a liar from a mile off, takes one to know one. I could maybe ask her to come round and help me tidy up the flat when I get back. I hope that won’t be asking too much.
As I’m thinking about all this I notice Rob has gone quiet. Real quiet. He’s not the liveliest or most excitable man, not by a long way, but at least he was making some noises before. Now he’s not saying anything. I look at him and he is staring into space, unfocused and distant. He’s not looking at anything, like a screen has gone up in front of him. The switch is off. My foot suddenly starts to hurt badly again and I can’t think of anything else to say except OWWW! Rob does not react, not even to say ‘Are you ok?’ or rub my shoulder or turn to look at me. He doesn’t even move. I know not to expect any sympathy now.
In his own way, he makes me brave and makes me face my pain. It’s not his. It’s no one else’s. “Nothing like pain to make you brave.” I remember he once said when my finger got trapped in the shed door for about five seconds, when we were kids. He’s right. Pain makes you or breaks you. It’s not going to stop me. I manage to find the strength to stand up and hop the short distance to the desk. “Excuse me. How long please?” I ask politely, my voice wobbles a little. We’ve been waiting about an hour and a half. My whole body has started to ache and feels stiff and bent like a wire coat hanger.
The receptionist says, “Shouldn’t be too long now.” Rob stays silent as before when I am back. While we wait, I watch a horizontal sleeping trampy looking man directly opposite me. I can smell him from here. He reeks of booze and possibly the worst body odour I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. He looks like he could roll off the seat any second. Unexpectedly he then wakes up and vomits on the floor with a god-awful retching noise. It splashes and spreads out over the floor, a symphony of brown and yellow mucous. The smell is incredible, like rotten fruits and alcohol, curry, fish and cheese. It makes me heave. I have to pull my hoodie up over my mouth. Rob doesn’t even flinch. A technician wearing a white plastic apron soon comes over with a yellow wet floor sign and a cleaning trolley and gets to work, not phased at all, like this has happened a million times before.
Eventually my name gets called and a nurse comes over and says that I must have an x-ray before seeing the doctor. I have to wait again, in another place around a corner. When I am soon called in, I get with difficulty on to a cold, padded hydraulic couch. It’s very uncomfortable trying to keep still like I’m told to. I have to hold a heavy apron of lead over my belly, in case I am pregnant, they say. I cannot even begin to consider whether or not it might be a possibility. It makes a futuristic buzzing noise as they zap my foot with radiation. Rob wheels me back to the waiting room and now I have to wait again to see the doctor. The sleeping man has gone and thankfully so has the smell.
I’m really getting bored now. At least being in pain gives me something to think about. When it gets too much I have to force myself to think about nice things, mainly Etienne in bed with me and I also think warmly about his smile, his voice, and his smell. This makes it a tiny bit more bearable. It goes on like this for I don’t know how long. Boredom. Pain. Distraction. The cycle continues. Occasionally Rob will exhale or yawn or stretch out in his chair. His presence is reassuring but his distance disturbing. So near but so far away, as we intimately share the bare bones of my pain, tiredness and desperate frustration. I’ve never been to A&E before, well not that I can think of, maybe when I was a baby but of course I don’t remember that. This is a new conscious experience and definitely not one I want to repeat again in a hurry. I make a vow that I am keeping myself safe and out of trouble from now on.
Finally, after waiting what feels like a century, they call out my name in full. Miss Ella Rae Roman. Rob stands up too and I hobble into a curtained cubicle. We sit down and it’s a middle aged Chinese lady wearing glasses and a stethoscope round her neck who sees us. I don’t know why but I was expecting a man but still, she seems nice. She says there are no bones broken and it’s just some soft tissue damage. I am going to be ok.
I am stunned. The amount of pain I’m in means surely something is broken. She shows us the x-ray films. My foot looks like an intact foot but I still ask again if she’s sure it’s not broken. Rob looks at me. Her advice is to rest and take painkillers. She says put ice on it too if I need to and to keep it elevated. She says that she will send for someone to bring me a pair of crutches. She gives me a piece of paper to show to a nurse in another room who will put on a support bandage. Finally, she writes a pres
cription for some medication for me and while she does this I ask for the strongest ones I can have, please, telling her it’s no joke the amount of pain I am in. She tells me to take the prescription to the hospital pharmacy and before I leave says if the pain gets worse or doesn’t get any better to come back. Then the door of my birdcage is open and I’m free to go, except of course, I cannot fly.
The nurse in the little side room sees me almost straight away and tightly wraps soft bandages round my throbbing foot. It doesn’t hurt too much at all. She is very gentle. In fact, it feels a bit better once she’s done it, more supported and even comfortable. We then head to the pharmacy which luckily is still open when we get there. It’s getting late in the day now. I just want to get the hell out of this place and get home, away from this dark and depressing building. We wait about thirty minutes more on another row of seats outside the pharmacy. When my drugs come, Rob carries them for me and we head out of the automatic doors and on our way towards home.
Rob asks me to wait near the drop off point. It’s easier for me to move now with the sticks and I can stand on just the one good foot without too much trouble. He goes to get the car. I wait a long time for him. I thought it’d take a few minutes, maybe five, but it’s longer before he eventually pulls up. I had started to worry, not that I really thought he would go without me. I wonder if I now have abandonment issues and separation anxiety too, just to add now to all my other worries. It feels like a long time, when really it’s only minutes. I feel stupid as we’ve been sitting in that damn hospital for hours. I smile when I eventually do see him coming.
I happily swing over to the car on my sticks, moving so much easier now my foot is off the ground. These sticks are fun I think. Although this new distraction still doesn’t quell the pain. As soon as I’m sitting in the front seat and Rob has safely stowed my crutches in the back. I tear open the clear plastic bag holding my pain relief. A half empty bottle of flat lemonade I find in the glove box does the job. I take two of the big round white pills and one of the small shiny yellow ones. The big ones are hard to swallow. I feel them sticking as they are going down and they taste bitter. The yellow one is easy, slippy and sugary. Now I just have to wait for them to work.
Rob is still his moody self but the relief I feel just after swallowing the medicine is immense and I’m not really even thinking about him. I don’t want to try talking to him again. I just want to go home and put my foot up and fall asleep. But I just have to ask one more last final question. “Are you going to tell mum?”
“Tell mum what?” He says, without moving his head.
“About today? This?”
“I already did. You were supposed to go round there for dinner. Remember?” He replies like a know-it-all friend. I don’t want to ask anything else now. Feeling scolded, I shut up and sit silently. We drive the twenty five minute journey home without another word. The silence is somewhat eerie. There’s not even a CD playing or the radio on, just the steady hum of the engine and the noise of the outside world whooshing past me.
When we stop, Rob gets my sticks from off the backseat and hands them to me. Then he waits. I take a long time to get out trying to cause myself the least amount of pain possible. It’s not easy getting out of a low car on one leg. I manage eventually. He shuts the door after me and locks the car. I remind him to set the alarm. Can’t be too careful, I joke, but he doesn’t laugh and just heads for the door. I’m in too much pain to start a row so I just shrug off his rudeness and follow after him. The first thing I want to do is go to the loo. I realised in the car home I hadn’t been for ages and by the time I get through the door I’m desperate so first things first I pee.
By the time I’m out he’s already set up a bed, by rearranging the makeshift one I made this morning, on big the sofa with cushions and blanket and adding the TV remote and a glass of water. He leaves the biscuit tin too. He then reappears carrying a small plate. He knows I must be hungry by now. “We don’t have much in, but this. I did you two. I know you like it.” I take the plate thankfully. He’s such a star. Double butter bread with the butter on both sides. It is one of my favourite things ever. Two whole slices. Perfect. I bite the corner off the first triangle, starving.
Then he says out of the blue, “I’m going out.” He places my mobile next to the biscuit tin. I’m too tired to ask why or where. He probably wouldn’t tell me anyway. I think I really should speak to mum but I feel I just don’t have the energy and I don’t want to be bothering her now it’s late. I will call her tomorrow and try and explain everything, say sorry, and tell her I really am ok. I broke my promise but it was not my fault. I really want to see her soon. It’s not like I’m going anywhere now. I’m going to be stuck like this pretty much for the foreseeable. I finish my cholesterol loaded bread and sip some more water. I hear Rob leave the house without so much as saying goodbye.
Suddenly I feel trapped and a little scared, like maybe what it feels like to be old and frail. I try and brush my fears aside. In a few days time I’ll be fine and in no time at all, back to normal. In the meantime, I have just got to concentrate on getting better and not making things worse. I wonder what else could go wrong. I have got to get used to keeping still I guess. It’s a shame as right now I feel more active than ever. I want to go for a jog, or power walk to Benny’s and back, or even just sprint quickly to the shops. But I can’t. Now that my freedom is taken away I want it more than ever. I bet though, when my foot is better, I will go straight back to being lazy again and running about will be the last thing on my mind. I want to scream out in frustration. I sit silently.
I settle back on the sofa and make myself as comfy as I can. My foot feels like it may be dead. I cannot move any of my toes now. The pain now slower, steadier like a heavy wooden wardrobe is pushing down upon it as I lay on my back. A crushing and heavy weight but not intense agony like before. My right foot feels fine. I like it that I can wiggle my toes, turn my ankle in circles, lift my leg up and down which feels wonderful, compared to my left which I keep still and straight, foot pointing up. I try to wiggle my toes but can’t, not now they’re strapped together. It’s going to be like this for a while, until the swelling goes down and the bruises fade. They said I can take the bandages off in a fortnight.
I start to feel a little fluffy as I imagine the painkillers now slowly melting into my body. I want to be completely maxed out. I pick up the clear plastic bag of pills and take out the second smaller box. The doctor said they would help me sleep and to take them at night, so I take two now. I think I am going to sleep damn well, fully dosed up on industrial strength hospital drugs. My head falls back onto the brown velvet cushion and I feel like I am sinking slowly into a swamp of warm mud. I shut my eyes for a long time and see sparkles of white and green light dancing across the darkness of my eyelids. I am slowly falling down and deep into the unknown. I feel weightless, anaesthetised and fuzzy. I sometimes forget to breathe. I move to take a sip of water and nearly knock the glass over. It wobbles and spills a little on the floor. I find the shape of the spillage funny, like a little sea monster and I smile to myself. I keep on smiling and shut my eyes again to see flower outlines this time, with pink and purple petals, above and beneath running rivers of fuchsia and mauve. I can hear the gentle chime of church bells in my ears, softly ringing a continuous melody of wavering scales. The air I breathe in deep through my nose feels dry and tastes soapy but still, I can feel its breezy freshness in the depths of my lungs. A bitter taste of medicine lingers at the back of my throat despite taking another sip of water which tastes buttery and mellow. I think I can detect the last lingering scent of Etienne on the soft blanket now covering my nose and mouth. It feels smooth like satin, soft as skin. My eyes close again to see red and pink love hearts dancing in spirals among golden swirls. I do not open my eyes again.
13
The Morning after Pills
I woke up and I knew something was wrong, something had changed. I can smell my bad breath on the cushion
. I feel cludgy and heavy headed. The painkillers did more than make me just sleep. I feel like I’ve been knocked out by a sucker punch. My throat is dry with that bitter taste still lurking at the back of my mouth. It was my phone’s electronic trill that woke me. I heard it, muffled, vague and distant. I was sleeping deep at the bottom of a warm ocean. I ignored it and ignored it again. I don’t know how many times it rang before I swum to the surface. It was mum. I knew instantly something was wrong. Guilt stabs me in the stomach and I feel sick. She doesn’t usually ring me. I immediately wonder if Rob is ok. I want to ring her straight back but hesitate, fearful. It’s like the middle of the night phone call you hope you will never get. I’m worried.
When it rings again, I take a quick breath like it hurts. This early morning call I dread to answer. The word ‘MUM’ flashing orange over and over makes me pick up. Her voice is different. Broken. Quieter than ever. I’m scared. “Are you ok?” she whispers so quietly I barely hear. “Please tell me you’re ok Ella. I want to see you.” She speaks so softly, compellingly and I feel powerless. I tell her I’m fine and that I want to see her too. I try and shake the fluffy stuffing out of my head.
“Why?” I ask her. “What’s the matter? What’s happened? Is Rob ok?” She starts to tell me to calm down but I don’t. “What’s happened? Tell me!”
“Just come here, please, Ella.” She says.
My foot is hurting me again. I tell her, “I’m not ready. I’ve just woken up. I can’t just come now and how am I going to get there?” Then I think I don’t even know where my crutches are. “Where’s Rob?” I say again.
She answers with a gentle snap. “Calm down! Rob’s here, with me. We both want you to come over here now.”
Surprised and a tiny bit relieved, I groan and reply, “Is he ok? Look, I’m sorry, I don’t feel well. I just woke up.”
“Come over now Ella. Please. Call a cab. I will pay.”