by KL Slater
Take little Evie Cotter. Mollycoddled in one sense and yet woefully neglected in another. It was vital that the child learned to face up to the unexpected death of her father and began that process as early as possible, to harden herself against the cruel jibes that were bound to come when she got a little older and, in particular, when she went to the high school in a few years’ time. There would be no stopping them then.
Other children could be vicious, cutting in the extreme with their remarks if they detected a soft centre, and Harriet was thoroughly convinced that this would leave lasting damage if the child concerned was unprepared.
Harriet froze for a few moments as thoughts whirled in her head, her hands full of colourful paintings depicting stick figures and various other indecipherable shapes.
The horror of being singled out and bullied at school left deep wounds that would weep inside you forever, where no one could see. The scar on her forehead began to itch again. It always did when she thought about the gang of girls who had tormented her for most of her senior-school years.
Harriet coughed, her eyes refocused and she took a hold of herself again. Now was no time to be lingering in the past or remembering that day they had cornered her with the broken bottle after school.
She had work to do. There were children here who she could save from a similar fate. Impressionable youngsters who depended on her, needed her guidance.
Evie Cotter was one of them.
24
Three Years Earlier
Toni
After Mum left, I felt so tired that I half dozed off while Evie watched her cartoons. I didn’t ask her any questions about what had upset her at school. We had the whole evening to get there and I knew from experience that Evie wouldn’t be rushed into talking about it if she didn’t want to.
I felt Evie sit up a bit straighter, tilting her head to one side as if she was listening. That’s when I snapped fully awake.
‘Mummy, your phone’s ringing,’ she said.
I jumped up and ran into the kitchen to find I’d missed a call from an unknown mobile number. Immediately, I thought it might be Dale, about the job.
But whoever it was hadn’t left a message. Stupidly, I’d left the phone in here instead of having it next to me. I tossed it onto the countertop in frustration and just then it began to ring again. I snatched it back up.
‘Hello?’
‘Toni? Dale here, from Gregory’s Property Services. I thought I’d give you another try, just in case.’
‘Hello, Dale. I’m so sorry I missed you, I left the phone in the kitchen and—’ I was babbling like an idiot. ‘Sorry, I’m going on a bit.’
‘Thanks so much for coming in today,’ he began, and I filled in the blanks. It was a really hard decision but in the end there was someone that suited the position better . . . ‘We were really impressed with your interview and I’d like to offer you the job. Starting tomorrow, if that’s still convenient for you?’
‘What? I mean, wow, thank you! That’s brilliant.’ I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I’d got the job. ‘And tomorrow is great for me, thanks. Thanks so much.’
‘Perfect,’ Dale laughed. ‘Well, congratulations, and we’ll see you at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Have a good evening.’
I stood for a moment when Dale rang off, the phone still in my hand. I felt a bit dazed.
A good thing had just happened to me. A good thing!
‘I’m hungry, Mummy,’ Evie announced, walking into the kitchen, trailing her blanket behind her. ‘What’s for tea?’
I pulled out a chair and picked Evie up, sitting down with her on my knee.
‘Listen, munchkin, Mummy has some really exciting news for us.’ My stomach fizzed as I heard myself say the words. ‘I just got a job!’
‘A job?’
‘That’s right. I’ll just be working afternoons, so I can still take you to school each day.’
‘But I don’t want to go to St Saviour’s anymore.’
My heart seemed to slip a notch in my chest.
‘Come on, poppet. It’s only your first day, it’s natural for things to seem a bit strange. Tomorrow will be so much better, you’ll see.’
‘I don’t want to go.’
Evie shuffled off my knee and stood in front of me, holding her blanket up to her pursed lips.
‘Why don’t you like school, Evie?’
‘I just don’t.’
‘Who’s your teacher? Nanny said it’s not Miss Watson.’
‘Miss Watson isn’t my teacher.’ Evie frowned. ‘She just helps Miss Akhtar.’
It was puzzling. I felt sure Harriet Watson had told me she was Evie’s teacher. I must have misheard her.
‘I had to go with Miss Watson into the library with some other children,’ Evie said.
‘That’s good. Miss Watson already knows you,’ I beamed. ‘I bet you’re her favourite.’
‘I’m not.’
‘OK, so what did you do in the library?’
‘She made me talk,’ Evie scowled. ‘I didn’t want to talk to the other children.’
It sounded to me like Miss Watson was trying to get Evie to come out of her shell a bit, to mix with the other kids. As far as I was concerned, that could only be a good thing.
Evie needed to make some friends. Although she was chatty and confident at home, I’d noticed in the last few months that she could be stubbornly silent and a bit moody around new people.
‘It’s just a first-day thing, Evie,’ I reassured her. ‘Everyone has to do that when they’re new, I’ll have to do it tomorrow when I start my new job. It’ll be different tomorrow, you’ll see.’
‘I’m not going tomorrow,’ Evie said, her jaw firmly set. ‘Nanny said I don’t have to.’
25
Three Years Earlier
Toni
When I opened my eyes the next morning, my heavy heart told me there was something to worry about before my mind caught up with exactly what that was.
I was going to have a big problem in getting Evie to school.
Fortunately, I’d woken early – it was just six thirty. Plenty of time to get myself psyched up and organised, ready for the battle that undoubtedly lay before me. Evie might be small and endlessly cute, but she was a fearsome opponent when she dug her heels in. Any nerves about my first day in the new job melted into oblivion when I thought about the problems it would cause if every weekday became a battle with Evie. The stakes were high and I needed to try to sort things out before they escalated.
I’d already laid out my work clothes last night so I showered, washed my hair and got myself ready for the day ahead. That was the easy part.
Downstairs, I prepared a bowl of Evie’s favourite cereal, poured her a small glass of orange juice – without bits – and prepared to wake her at seven thirty, which was in five minutes time.
Last night when Evie was watching TV, I came into the kitchen and rang Mum to tell her that I thought I’d solved the mystery of what had upset her.
‘Miss Watson tried to get her to tell the others a bit about herself,’ I had explained. ‘Because she’s new to the area.’
‘Well, I’d be surprised if that’s all it was, Toni, she was so upset,’ Mum replied. ‘Anyway, Evie’s a sociable enough girl, she doesn’t need to be put on the spot like that.’
‘Evie isn’t as sociable as she used to be, Mum,’ I tried to reason. ‘Also, she said Nanny told her she doesn’t have to go to school tomorrow if she doesn’t want to. If that’s true, can you stop saying it? Because it really isn’t helpful.’
‘You didn’t see her sobbing outside the gates,’ Mum shot straight back. ‘I said what I could to calm her down after that Watton woman, or whatever her name is, upset the poor mite. The woman is overbearing.’
‘Her name’s Miss Watson, Mum, and as far as I’m concerned, being encouraged to talk to her classmates can only be a good thing. I’m sure it was just first-day nerves on Evie’s part, nothing more than that.’
‘Hmm, well we’ll soon see, won’t we?’ Mum was on her high horse now. ‘Because I’ll tell you now, if she’s in tears when I pick her up this afternoon, I’ll be going straight back inside and asking them why she’s so unhappy.’
‘Don’t get on the wrong side of the school, Mum,’ I said, trying to keep my voice level. ‘Evie doesn’t always know what’s best for her, she’s just five years old.’
I had almost felt Mum’s irritation trickling down the handset and dripping into my ear. She made some inane excuse and rang off.
I shook off the memory of last night’s conversation and checked the time. It was just gone seven-thirty now, so I was going to have to wake her, which wasn’t ideal.
I padded softly up the stairs and stood outside Evie’s door, listening to her soft, regular breaths. There had been a couple of nights where she’d come into my room and woken me, upset from a bad dream she’d had about me. It was only natural, after her Daddy had gone from her life so tragically and quickly, that she’d worry that I might leave her too.
I pushed the door open and crept into the room. Fortunately, the previous owners had left the curtains, but they were thin and barely kept out any light at all. Their choices would have to do for now, but I was going to make sure Evie had the princess bedroom she deserved once I had a regular wage coming in.
I stood for a moment and drank in the sight of my beautiful girl, her golden hair spilling across the pillow. She had Andrew’s lashes, long and dark.
My heart squeezed in on itself when I thought about what she’d been through. She was dealing with a never-ending hurt she didn’t fully understand. Her daddy had been there one minute and gone the next, and now upheaval had struck again in the shape of a new home and a new school.
Was it any wonder she’d withdrawn into herself a bit and didn’t want the spotlight on her in class? I blamed myself. I should have made it clearer to Harriet Watson the day she’d called at the house, but I wasn’t sure what else I could have said. Don’t try to help her integrate or make friends? Leave her completely alone? Ignore her? Of course not. In the long run, Miss Watson’s efforts would pay off, I felt sure of it.
‘Morning, Mummy.’ Evie stretched and yawned and smiled at me sleepily.
‘There she is, my best girl.’ I smiled back. ‘My clever, clever girl who goes to big school now.’
A shadow passed over her face and her fingers clawed at her comfort blanket.
‘Your favourite breakfast is awaiting you downstairs, Your Highness.’ I swept my arm grandly.
‘Frosted Shreddies?’ Her face lit up.
‘Frosted Shreddies indeed.’ I grinned. ‘And fresh orange juice WITHOUT the bits.’
‘Yum!’
Evie pushed her blanket away and shuffled over to me for a cuddle.
‘Now, are you going to be a brave girl for Mummy and go to school again today?’ I ventured. ‘It’s my first day at my new job and I’m a little nervous, too. Can we do it together, do you think?’
‘Yes, Mummy.’ She nodded in full agreement and I silently thanked the great God of Tantrums for giving me this temporary and most welcome respite.
* * *
An hour later, Evie was washed, fed, dressed and standing in the corner of the short hallway with her arms folded, refusing to leave the house.
‘Evie, please,’ I tried again. ‘You have to go to school.’
‘Nanny said I don’t have to go.’
‘You do. Nanny just said that because you were upset.’ I ran my hand through my still-damp hair. ‘Every little girl and boy has to go to school or their mummy could go to jail. It’s the law.’
She looked mildly concerned for all of two seconds. ‘I DON’T want to go.’
This was getting ridiculous. If we didn’t leave the house in the next five minutes, Evie was in danger of being late.
‘You have to go to school, simple as that,’ I repeated sternly.
‘I want to go to school,’ she said, her eyes shining. ‘But not that school. I don’t want to go to horrid St Saviour’s.’
‘It’s the only school around here,’ I said, reaching for her arm. ‘You have to go there, Evie.’
‘I don’t want to.’ Her voice ramped up an octave as I gently tugged at her arm.
‘Let’s just walk together and see how you feel. Look, it’s a lovely day out there, we can look on my phone and see if there are any Pokémon around to capture on the way.’
Her eyes widened. ‘OK, Mummy, but if I don’t want to go in when we get there, can I come back home with you?’
‘Ooh, look,’ I said, tapping at my phone as if I hadn’t heard. ‘We might find one of these!’ I flashed the screenshot of a suitably monstrous-looking creature.
We walked quite briskly and I led her past hedgerows and seat benches that all might be concealing Pokémon. It worked brilliantly. Until the school gates came into view.
‘I’ve decided I don’t want to go in after all, Mummy.’ She stopped dead in her tracks and folded her arms.
‘Evie, I told you. You have to.’ I took her arm and gently pulled her along.
‘I don’t want to. I DON’T WANT TO!’ Then the tears started, streaming down her cheeks, which she rubbed all over her face, dampening her fringe.
‘Evie, please.’
Parents and children were staring now as Evie started to pull the opposite way, strange faces displaying varying degrees of sympathy, disapproval and fascination. It was becoming impossible to keep hold of her arm and pull her through the side gate without hurting her.
‘Good heavens!’ A voice thundered in front of us. ‘What’s happening here?’
I let go of Evie’s arm in alarm and she stopped struggling immediately. We both looked up to see Harriet Watson standing at the gates, hands on her hips.
Evie froze.
‘Surely this can’t be Evie Cotter, who was such a good girl yesterday?’ She shook her head at me, aghast. ‘Do you know, Mummy, Miss Akhtar said there might even be a sticker for Evie if she behaves as well today.’
Evie inhaled a little sob and wiped her eyes, staring all the time at Miss Watson.
‘A sticker, you say?’ I repeated.
‘Yes, and we don’t give stickers out to many of the children, you know,’ Harriet said. ‘Only the very best behaved girls and boys.’ She took a few steps forward and held out her hand. ‘Now, Evie, if you come along with me, and we walk into class together, Miss Akhtar doesn’t need to know about this little upset this morning, does she?’
Evie shook her head and grasped Miss Watson’s hand, looking up at her with undisguised hope of being given one of the hallowed stickers.
I let out a breath when I saw she’d actually stopped crying.
‘It can be our little secret.’ Harriet tipped her head at me meaningfully and I turned quietly to walk away. ‘Now then, we’re doing some very exciting work in class today. Do you like art?’
‘Nanny says I’m a very good drawer,’ I heard Evie say as the two of them disappeared through the gate. ‘And I can do lots of different sorts of art, even painting faces.’
I watched them go, Evie nodding and answering Miss Watson’s questions. She never even looked back to see if I was still there. An invisible weight lifted from my shoulders and I stretched my neck left and right to try to ease the trapped tension.
Mum might not be impressed, but as far as I was concerned, Harriet Watson was my hero.
26
Present Day
Queen’s Medical Centre
I am trying, so desperately, not to sleep.
If I sleep, they could come in and turn me off. It could easily happen, just like that. The flick of a switch, the press of a button and bang – I’m gone.
No one to stop them, no one to miss me.
Dr Shaw will sign the papers that will go to the coroner. They’ll quickly reduce me to a pile of ashes, and once the death certificate is filed, no one will be any the wiser that I was ever here. Alive in my
invisible prison.
And then what will happen to Evie?
I know that somewhere, my beautiful girl is behind her own glass wall, unable to find her way back home. Without me, they’ll write her off, forget her. She will just become a statistic, another unsolved case.
That’s why, no matter how hopeless it seems, I have to fight. I have to find a way to make them see I am still here. That I am worth taking a chance on.
I have such vital things I need to tell them. Things that might just find Evie. I’m starting to remember everything, even the seemingly uneventful, everyday things. The truth is in there somewhere.
Beep, hiss, hiss, hiss, beep.
My chest rises and falls as the respirator pumps life into my lungs.
Tick tock, tick tock.
The clock on the wall taunts me. Every second that passes, I move nearer to certain death at the hands of the doctors.
Unless I can crack the glass, that is. Shatter this unseen prison inside myself.
I search for the archived lessons of my school human biology class.
The diaphragm is the muscle that promotes effective breathing. It moves up and down and it is located just under the ribs.
I try to feel its presence; my diaphragm. I conjure up in my mind a horizontal band of thick, powerful muscle. Muscles can move, they can twitch of their own accord. Muscles have a memory.
For a few seconds I concentrate, willing my diaphragm to move.
Up, down, up, down. Relax.
And again. Up, down, up, down.