Blink

by KL Slater

  Evie hadn’t known what would happen. She hadn’t known Daddy would fall off that cliff and get all broken into little pieces. At her old school, Arthur Chapman’s Action Man got stamped on at break and had to be thrown away by Miss Bert because it simply couldn’t be mended.

  When the last bell sounded today, she’d been so happy it was Friday and there was no more stinking school for two days, but then Mummy had taken that phone call in the kitchen and been all pretend-bright afterwards, with her beaming smile that she used when she really wanted Evie to like something that wasn’t very nice.

  She told Evie that next week she would be doing a special after-school club, on her own, with Miss Watson.

  ‘Everything is going to be fine.’ Mummy had held her hand a bit too tight and her eyes looked all misty again, like she was struggling to see Evie properly. ‘Miss Watson has got a lot of faith in you, Evie. She wants to help you settle in.’

  Evie was never going to settle in. Not here in this house or at St Saviour’s Primary School.

  She just knew it.

  38

  Present Day

  Queen’s Medical Centre

  The room appears quiet and perfectly still, but something in the air has changed. Whoever the person was who very quietly opened and closed the door, they’re still in here. I can sense their presence.

  There’s a long beat of silence, during which the walls seem to press closer to my face. It feels harder to breathe. If I had to breathe of my own accord, that is.

  When it comes, her voice sounds coarser than I remembered.

  ‘I heard about what happened to you but I had to see it for myself before I could really believe it.’

  I hear her pad forward from the door a few steps. It’s almost inaudible, but I am instantly alert to the faintest muted rustle of soft soles on a hard floor. My ears have sharpened. It’s as if my body is trying to make up for the fact that almost all other bodily functions have been rendered useless by the stroke, or whatever condition since then has paralysed me.

  I catch a whisper of breath and that tells me she has moved a little closer to my bed. But I still can’t see her.

  ‘What happened to Evie, it’s your fault.’ Her voice sounds fairly level but there is a wobble behind it, a sort of worrying unevenness.

  It’s true. It’s my fault Evie was taken. I don’t need her to tell me that. Of all people, she is far from blameless. I should never have listened to her poisoned words.

  My heartbeat wallops against my chest wall and, worse than that, I can feel nausea rising in my chest. If I bring back my liquid food, I could choke to death before the nurses even get here.

  I hear the soft rustle again. She’s on the move but sticking close to the walls, staying purposely out of my view.

  With her last step, she comes into focus.

  A vague shape of unidentifiable colours, over on my right hand side. She stands adjacent to my head but well back.

  If only I could swivel my eyes, just slightly to the right . . .

  ‘They say you can’t move, not even a millimetre,’ she says. ‘They say it’s not known whether you can see or hear, but I’ve got some things I want to say to you all the same.’ She shuffles slightly. ‘I’ve got something I want to show you, too.’

  I don’t like the way she says that.

  I start to shake my head violently from side to side, and stretch the fingers of my left hand until it hurts, stretching towards the emergency button that hangs on a thick cord, just centimetres away.

  I shout and yell for the nurse to come and help me, to make her go away.

  But of course, in the real world, I remain completely still and unresponsive.

  Now she has stopped speaking, there is only the ticking of the clock, the rasp of the respirator and the thick, cloying air that settles on the surface of my skin like a toxic sheen.

  I wonder how she got past the nurses. Do they even keep a check on who is coming in here? The medical staff check on me around three or four times a day, taking their readings, maintaining my life support. In addition, Dr Shaw and Dr Chance pay their brief visits also.

  The cleaner came in early this morning, whisking quickly under my bed with a mop and leaving the air thick with the acrid disinfectant that chafes at my throat. Another cleaner will drop by later.

  None of them will take a moment to really look at me. Nobody will speak to me. Unless the nice nurse comes back, that is.

  But for now, I am alone with someone I thought I would never see again. Someone I hoped I would never breathe the same air as again.

  Evie, I whisper.

  ‘Do you still think about Evie? Think about what you did?’

  Every day. Every day, I think about her.

  ‘You just had one job that mattered and that was to take care of her.’ The coloured shape draws nearer to me. ‘It’s laughable you could even think of yourself as worthy. She wasn’t taken, you let her go.’

  I didn’t let her go, I screamed. She was taken. Somebody took Evie away.

  And then, swiftly, she is right next to my bed and her face is above mine. Directly above my eyes, staring down at me, her lips set in a terrible grimace of something that falls between hatred and anger.

  She pulls back her arm and then whips her hand in front of my face. For a moment, I think she is going to punch me in the face but then I see she is clutching something between her fingers, something white and stiff.

  She flicks the piece of card, holds it squarely above my eyes. A photograph, of Evie. Her beautiful face is older; eyes like azure pools of sadness. The strawberry-shaped birthmark is partly visible on her neck.

  It has been three years since I saw her, when she was five years old. In this photograph she looks about eight.

  A force rises up from my solar plexus, I feel the thrust of it travelling up through my body, chest, throat and suddenly it’s there, filling my head like liquid explosive.

  And I blink.

  I actually blink.

  Above me, her face freezes and then sort of collapses. She steps back in shock.

  ‘They said you couldn’t move, they said—’

  Her voice falls away and she steps forward again. Her face looms in front of my eyes. She thinks she might have imagined it and she is checking me again.

  I really did blink. I try to do it again and nothing happens.

  I squeeze my eyelids together, or I try. But they are glued apart, and once again I am moving only in my head.

  I blink repeatedly. Fast, hard, squinty blinks, one after the other.

  Nothing happens.

  I don’t know what I did that time, how or why it was different. I don’t know how to blink again.

  The door opens and she gasps and looks round.

  ‘Ms McGovern?’ I hear Dr Chance’s voice. ‘The nurses said you were here.’

  My heart seems to leap up into my throat.

  Tell him! I cry out the words. Tell him I just blinked.

  ‘Yes,’ she says, turning away from me. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m her sister.’

  ‘I take it someone has spoken to you about your sister’s current condition?’

  I haven’t got a sister.

  ‘Y-yes.’ Her voice breaks with emotion. It’s an impressive performance.

  ‘We’re very concerned there has been no sign of any movement whatsoever. Your sister can neither breathe nor swallow independently. There will need to be’ – he pauses – ‘some important decisions made, quite soon.’

  Tell him I blinked. Please tell him.

  ‘Of course, I understand. It’s so sad,’ she says and I hear sniffling and the swish of a tissue being whisked from a handbag. ‘I’ve been here talking to her and watching her and there’s nothing at all, no reaction. I don’t feel she’s with us anymore. It’s like she’s already gone.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Dr Chance says softly. ‘And perhaps it is kinder to think of it that way.’

  I am here, I shout. I am still here.

&
nbsp; ‘If you’d like to come with me, Ms McGovern, we can go to my office for a chat. Dr Shaw, my colleague, may be able to join us.’

  The door opens. And closes.

  And I am alone again.

  The room is silent in between the tick tocks and the rasps, which I hardly notice anymore.

  The light is fading. The sun has moved round to the side of the building, leaving my room cold and clinical.

  The blur of leaves sweeps to and fro across the glass as the wind picks up, lifting the branch to the window. On my face they would prickle and scratch, but from my bed they sound muted and soft. Like Evie’s breathing at night.

  I stare at the white, glossed ceiling with blurred eyes and try to blink. Nothing happens. The sensation of an explosive fullness in my head has gone now. I feel completely hollow, devoid of life.

  I project the photograph of an older Evie onto the ceiling above me. She dangled it in front of my eyes for mere seconds but it was long enough. I have it now, here in my mind. I conjure up Evie’s smooth, plump cheeks and the soft gleam of her hair cascading onto the shoulders of the red tartan dress with the white lace collar. I block out her never-ending tears, captured by the flash.

  I try to un-see the fear and sadness in her eyes, but it is all I can ever think about.

  I repeat her cutting words: ‘You just had one job that mattered, and that was to look after her.’

  I know I am totally to blame for what happened to Evie.

  It was all my fault.

  39

  Three Years Earlier

  The Teacher

  Harriet Watson had entertained certain suspicions about Evie Cotter’s mother, but now she was utterly convinced that her suspicions were correct.

  It had begun when Harriet noticed Mrs Cotter’s odd drowsiness, evident on the day she visited the family home. During their tea and conversation in the kitchen, there had been a second or two, just here and there, of distracted silence on the other woman’s part.

  Perhaps the unpaid bills and maxed-out credit card statements had something to do with that. Toni had soon whisked them away when she realised she’d left them on the table.

  Still, Harriet hadn’t been completely certain of Toni Cotter’s dependency.

  But today on the telephone, the woman had clearly been slurring her words. It had been pronounced enough that Harriet herself had hesitated on the call, waiting for Toni to explain why she was having trouble speaking.

  There had been no explanation. Toni had simply fallen silent herself until Harriet began speaking again. She was obviously completely unaware of how she sounded. Which is what had given her away. As the call continued, Toni became emotional, eventually teetering on the edge of tears, so Harriet had hastily finished the call.

  She replaced the phone in its cradle and sat down on a breakfast stool. Staring out of the kitchen window, her eyes settled on the damp rot of next door’s fence.

  From this vantage point, she could see the two odd socks that had been hanging on their neighbour’s line for months and months, through all weathers. The cotton had started to unravel; soon there would be nothing left.

  At least fifteen years ago, the house next door had been converted into four separate student flats with communal kitchen and lounge areas. But Harriet could still remember when Mr and Mrs Merchant lived there and everything had been shipshape. Fences regularly treated with creosote and not a sign of the tangled, weed-strewn flowerbeds that now encroached onto the narrow front path.

  Keeping the house and garden in order seemed to be a dated pastime for many these days, Harriet thought. Even that shoebox of a house that the Cotters had moved into looked in dire need of sprucing up.

  If her suspicions proved correct, then Harriet doubted Toni Cotter was actually capable of organising a good, thorough clean up and providing a stable home for her daughter.

  Harriet continued to stare through the rain-spotted glass, but she had stopped seeing anything now. Her mind had begun to ponder other concerns. What was little Evie getting up to while her mother was mooching around in a drugged haze? Who was the GP who’d been dishing out sedatives like Smarties to an obviously healthy young woman?

  Harriet took her responsibilities seriously, and, as she had already made the decision to take Evie Cotter under her wing, so to speak, she would be unable to turn a blind eye to her mother’s behaviour. It was obvious she had stumbled on a rather unusual situation. You might say the mother was as much in need of Harriet’s guidance and support as her child was.

  Harriet would make it her job to find out exactly what was happening when the door of 22 Muriel Crescent swung closed to the outside world.

  In Harriet’s opinion, it amounted to the worst sort of neglect.

  40

  Three Years Earlier

  Toni

  I didn’t hear anything at all from Mum on Saturday. She called my mobile while I was upstairs and Evie answered and spoke to her briefly. I wasn’t worried; sometimes she was just best left to get over her strop in her own good time.

  I refused to lie around feeling sorry for myself all morning, so I decided I’d take Evie into Hucknall.

  ‘Do I get to see where you work, Mummy?’ Evie asked, delighted. It was a pleasant change to see her smiling and upbeat.

  ‘That’s right, poppet,’ I replied. ‘And you’ll get to meet Mummy’s work friends, too.’

  Impressively, aside from being the final resting place for the great poet Lord Byron, Hucknall was a convenient place for shopping. Once a thriving market town, it was much smaller than Nottingham city and I preferred the shops and layout to what I’d seen so far of Bulwell. A morning trip would be ideal to combine keeping Evie entertained and getting some errands done.

  I parked up on the usual side street near work and walked into town, hand in hand with Evie. I felt so proud of my daughter, full of questions and energy, bright and eloquent in her conversation. This was Evie as she used to be, back at home. Happier, vibrant. And it was no coincidence that this happier, more vibrant Evie had appeared at the weekend, when there would be no school.

  We dawdled a little as we made our way down the bustling High Street, a chilly breeze occasionally brushing our cheeks but leaving no lasting discomfort. If anything, it reminded me of the fact that Christmas was looming on the horizon, and in turn, as it always did, the fact that Andrew and Christmas family time no longer existed for us.

  For the first time in a very long time, I wondered if I could make Christmas a more jolly occasion for me and Evie. A little spare money and this fresh start might just swing it in our favour, making the best of and showing gratitude for what we still had, rather than what we’d lost.

  We walked past shops, several with Halloween displays in the windows, even though it was still a few weeks away. Evie spotted a witch’s outfit she loved in the window of a quality greeting card shop.

  I made a mental note to buy it, once I got my first wage from Gregory’s. It would be far more expensive than my original plan of hitting Poundworld for all the witchy components, but hell, this was why I’d taken the job in the first place.

  It wasn’t until the shop front of Gregory’s came into view that it occurred to me that if Bryony was in the office, she might well take umbrage at me popping in with Evie. The last time I’d seen her she’d swept by me, issuing what sounded very much like threats but what I hoped was just temper.

  Still, my stomach twisted when I thought about it and I felt glad I hadn’t had any breakfast before we left the house. I opened the door to the shop and walked into the stuff of nightmares. Everyone – Dale, Bryony and Jo – was there. Their heads swivelled to the door as we stepped inside.

  ‘We just popped in to say hello,’ I said lightly, leaving the door ajar behind me so Bryony would see I wasn’t staying to chat. ‘I don’t want to disturb you.’

  Bryony looked startled and her eyes immediately focused on Evie. She rushed over.

  ‘Hello, Evie, I’m Bryony.’ She held out
her hand and I was proud that Evie shook it confidently. ‘I’ve seen your picture on your mummy’s desk but you’re even prettier in real life.’

  Evie glanced at the framed photograph on my desk and her face broke into a wide grin. She was a sucker for compliments.

  My mouth fell open. Bryony was the closest thing I’d ever seen to a person with a split personality. The fire-breathing dragon was gone and in her place was this sweet, good-natured woman who had instantly put Evie at ease.

  ‘Hello, Evie.’ Dale smiled. ‘Have you come in to help us sell some houses today?’

  Evie shook her head solemnly. ‘Just to say hello to Mummy’s work friends.’

  ‘Ahh, I see,’ Dale said, winking at me. I noticed he looked far more casual than I’d seen him before, wearing black jeans and a striped polo shirt. He mustn’t be taking any clients on viewings today, although I felt sure we had some booked in.

  ‘Shall I make a drink?’ Jo stood up from her desk and walked across to us. I felt bad, like we’d been ignoring her. ‘Evie, I’m Jo. Would you like some orange squash and maybe a biscuit?’

  Evie looked at me and I nodded.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said.

  Jo held out her hand. ‘Come and have a look then and you can choose which sort you’d like.’

  To my surprise, Evie took Jo’s hand and disappeared through the back without displaying an ounce of clinginess.

  ‘Toni, she’s adorable,’ Bryony gushed. ‘I don’t know how you manage to come to work, I’d want to be with her constantly.’

  ‘Well, she’s at school now,’ I said, wondering if she was having a dig. ‘So it fits in really well with the job.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let her out of my sight,’ Bryony said dramatically. ‘Little angel, she is. I could eat her!’

  Five minutes later, Evie walked back into the room, gingerly carrying a plate full of assorted biscuits.