The Secret Wound

by Deirdre Quiery

  They ignored Cornelia. It was as if she didn’t exist. She learnt how to stamp her feet and cry to get attention. What worked even more effectively was when she panted and couldn’t breathe. Anne would then give her anything she asked for, explaining to everyone that Cornelia had asthma and needed to be treated gently. Amelia was told not to annoy her, to let her play with her dolls and that she had to be kind to Cornelia. It never stopped Cornelia thinking that her parents loved Amelia more than her. Everyone loved Amelia more than Cornelia.

  ♥

  Cornelia was ten when it happened. They were in the park playing. There was a roundabout which could go really fast if Cornelia held onto the bar and pushed with all her might. Amelia sat gripping onto the bar - that angelic look of patience quickly replaced by tears as she cried, “Stop it Cornelia, you’re going too fast. It’s scary.” When there was no-one around, Cornelia pushed the roundabout faster, jumping onto the wooden platform at the bottom of the roundabout, feeling the wind in her hair, ignoring Amelia gasping for air. Her cries could not be heard. Instead, they were whisked away on the breeze, then scattered like rain over Cardiff. When the roundabout eventually slowed down, Amelia looked at Cornelia with fear in her eyes. She reached into her pocket and handed Cornelia a strawberry lollipop.

  “You can have this.”

  Cornelia looked at the flat circular lolly covered in transparent plastic. She reached a hand towards it. She held it in her hand, staring at it before throwing it across the playground.

  “I don’t want it.”

  Amelia scrambled off the roundabout. One of her sandals was loose and she bent over to tighten it. She kept her eyes on Cornelia. Cornelia walked towards the swings. The two swings hung low, the wooden seats close to the ground. She sat on one and waited for Amelia to join her. Amelia didn’t move quickly from where she had fixed her sandal. She hesitated. She then took a few steps towards Cornelia and gently sat in the swing at her side. She pushed back with her right foot against the sandy ground. The swing moved slowly in a small arc. Amelia’s two feet dragged through the sand. She didn’t want to go too high. Cornelia hadn’t started to swing at all. Instead she watched Amelia out of the corner of her eye. Then she jumped off the swing, spun around to see if there was anyone in the playground. It was empty. Like a pendulum, Amelia’s swing swung higher and higher, rushing into the blue sky filling with thick black clouds which would later bring rain. Her tiny feet no longer searched for contact with the brown sand but her toes stretched and pointed out straight in front of her. There was a sense of abandonment to the sky and earth. She allowed herself to be thrown between the two. She made another effort to bend forward and make the swing go higher and then to bend backwards with the legs still straight out and toes pointing like a ballet dancer’s into the sky. She laughed out loud.

  “Higher. Higher,” she shouted as if to God and then to Cornelia.

  “Push me higher.”

  Cornelia grasped the wooden seat as it swung towards her and swung it forward with all her might. There were two sweeping arcs, then three. Amelia screamed with excitement. She tried to slow the swing down but her feet only scratched at the earth before swinging high into the sky. Cornelia pushed again with all her strength as the swing flew horizontal. Amelia now shrieked,

  “Stop it. You’re frightening me. Stop.”

  Cornelia laughed and shouted into the air, “Enjoy it. It’s fun.”

  Amelia screamed with fear as the swing shuddered, now pushing higher than horizontal. It trembled in the air before rattling to earth. Cornelia had to jump into the air to catch the seat of the swing at its highest point. She pulled it down to earth with all her strength, focusing on Amelia’s red school jumper pulled down over her navy skirt. The swing almost seemed to have reached a point where it could complete a circle over the top of the bar holding the thick metal chains. She jumped a second time into the air catching the seat of the swing as it fell towards earth. She laughed, “I’ll stop it now for you.”

  As Cornelia’s hands gripped the seat of the swing for the last time, Amelia’s hands let go of the cold chains on either side. Cornelia watched as the red woollen jumper, navy skirt, white socks and sandals hurtled through the air. Amelia’s legs circled for a while in the air in slow motion as though she was doing a long jump before she began to fall backwards and landed on the ground with a sickening thump – like a hammer in a judge’s hand as he drops it onto a rubber mat on top of a teak table and pronounces his sentence.

  Cornelia was transfixed. Amelia lay motionless, her head to one side. A trail of deep red blood flowed from her nose, seeping into the sand. Cornelia raced towards her, kneeling beside her on the ground. A wind twisted fallen autumn leaves from an oak tree into the air. She stared at Amelia’s chest. It didn’t move. Cornelia leaned over Amelia and moved her head from the sand, positioning it as if onto a pillow, preparing her for a night’s sleep. Amelia’s eyes were open – staring at Cornelia like one of Amelia’s dolls. Margaret Mary had white nylon hair and eyes which closed when you put her in her pram and which opened again when you lifted her out to have her bottle.

  Cornelia tried to remember what you were meant to do if you wanted to save someone’s life. She had been shown in school at a First Aid class. She couldn’t quite remember but she leaned over Amelia’s still body and breathed into her open lips three times. There was no movement in Amelia’s body – only a slight smile which seemed to settle after the third breath. It was the smile she seemed to have been born with. Even death couldn’t take it away.

  Cornelia gathered Amelia into her arms and held her against her chest and cried. It was the first time that she had ever hugged her. She buried her head into the scarlet jumper and smelt the baby cleanness of Amelia’s body through her clothes. She didn’t dare to look into her eyes again. Instead she squeezed her own eyes tightly closed, pressing her head deeper into Amelia’s shoulder. A sense of loss flooded her body. What had she done? Tears flowed. She stayed like that with Amelia, unmoving, until Anne found them. In the stillness of holding Amelia during what seemed to be an infinite period of waiting, something died within Cornelia. Or was something born? Cornelia continued swimming, knowing that the film within her head was nearing its end. There was another scene to watch.

  She climbed slowly from the tepid water and walked towards the sauna, opening the wooden door, removing her gold earrings and placing them on the wooden bench beside her. She twisted the egg timer hanging on the wall for fifteen minutes and closed her eyes. The film rolled. She knew that it would. There was no stopping it.

  Cornelia heard her mother Anne scream as she ran towards them, as she held Amelia, her head bowed. Anne had to prise her away. Cornelia and Amelia had merged into a closed oyster shell which Anne desperately struggled to separate. There was one soul – a pearl inside – not two. Anne eventually dragged Cornelia away from Amelia and called for an ambulance. Cornelia watched as Anne placed herself over Amelia’s body and she did what Cornelia had forgotten to do – she put her hands on Amelia’s chest and rhythmically pressed as she breathed air into her body. For a few moments it seemed as though Amelia had come back to life –she quivered and spluttered – only briefly. It was not be. It was only Anne’s breath moving in Amelia’s body.

  At the funeral, Cornelia listened to the mourners whisper.

  “She was so brave. She tried to save her. She loved her sister so much. It will be difficult for her now.”

  At the funeral Cornelia learnt how to bow her head down over her chest to avoid the gazes of everyone looking at her. She cried. Anne knelt on one knee beside her, wiped her face with a cotton handkerchief soaked in lavender oil, kissed her on the cheek. Cornelia felt a warm flame fanning in her heart which spluttered into a roaring furnace as the white coffin was lowered into the ground.

  For the first time at the funeral, Cornelia wore the blonde plait from Amelia’s hair which Anne had woven into her black bob. Amelia’s DNA was one with her’s. Nobody, or nothing, could
separate them.

  It was almost over as the coffin was laid in the grave. Although not entirely. Cornelia asked herself if she had killed Amelia or had it been an accident? She wasn’t sure. Had she held onto the swing for a few seconds deliberately forcing Amelia to fly through the air? Had it been her intention to kill Amelia?

  ♥

  One year later, on her eleventh birthday, the film played again. Cornelia showered after school, getting ready for her birthday party. As she ran the sponge over her body, she was disappointed at how it was developing. Breasts were pushing into existence. There was nothing she could do to stop it happening. She was not in control of her own body. The year before her legs were smooth and fine – like the legs on the new cherry wood kitchen table. This year, hairs had insisted on emerging like a plague of spider legs from toe to knee. She inspected them with a sense of curiosity. She was fat. Francis Turner couldn’t like her.

  Downstairs Anne was singing John Denver’s ‘Sunshine On My Shoulders Makes Me Happy’. The rain was pelting against the bedroom window. She hoped that the sun would be shining and Francis and she could be alone in the garden. They could find an excuse. She could show him the new wooden bird house or hideaway cave which she had woven into the hedge at the bottom of the garden. That wasn’t likely to happen if the rain continued to batter the windows. She listened to the heavy tread of feet on the stairs. That had to be her father, Simon. She slipped on her platform shoes, sat up on the bed and waited.

  The door swung quickly open as she knew it would. Simon entered, holding onto the door handle. Cornelia gasped and then closed her mouth again breathing in and out quickly and noisily – her breath like a saw chewing its way through hard wood. She watched Simon, recognising the red circles on his cheeks which meant that he had been drinking – although her Mother told her that it was high blood pressure. His dark hair greyed at the temples, eyes dark brown with thick black lashes and his mouth drawn into a straight line – pinched and straight. He sat on the bed beside her and reached for her hand, “I’m sorry about last night.” He didn’t look at her but stared at the floor. His hand resting lightly on top of hers.

  “I should never have hit you. But I care for you, Cornelia. You need to learn to live in the real world. The Christ you want to hang on a Cross around your neck doesn’t exist. We’re here because of random chance – atoms bumping off one another - not because of some Great Plan of salvation. It was inexcusable of me to hit you. I get frustrated when I can’t make people understand. It’s for you own good. As a parent it is my duty to prepare you to survive in a real world.”

  Cornelia briefly noticed his broken uneven teeth before quickly moving her head to the left and stared at the pillow where her white teddy bear lay, arms stretched out.

  “It won’t happen again. I promise you. I won’t hit your Mother again either. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  Cornelia kept her eyes on teddy’s still brown stare and nodded. She felt this whirling sensation in her stomach which made her feel dizzy. She didn’t want to cry but could feel the familiar prickling sensations beneath her eyelids and one tear escaped. She breathed quickly and deeply to stop any more falling. She didn’t know what to do to change the feelings inside. With her Father so close to her, the room felt small. There wasn’t enough space for both of them. Without moving her hand from his, she slowly turned to face him. He stopped looking at the floor and raised his head to look at her. She saw a face twisted like an animal caught in a snare. Her hand was the trap. His upper lip once again sewn in a tight line. He had a white moustache – not a hairy one – only the area above his upper lip was creamy white. His cheeks still red, but now like splashes of raspberry on each cheek. He didn’t look so scary now. Not like last night. She made herself look into his eyes. They looked surprisingly like teddy’s eyes but warmer, softer. She felt a smile opening around her mouth but she didn’t know why. Inside the swirling of the vortex in her stomach had turned into a gentle swish of waves on a beach. Words formed in her mouth as she heard herself say,

  “I should help Mummy prepare for the party.”

  Simon looked again at the floor, pressed her hand into the patchwork quilt, released his hand and slowly got to his feet.

  “That’s a good girl. So I’m forgiven then?”

  “Yes.” Cornelia’s legs shook at little as she walked towards the door behind her Father. He opened it for her, stood back and made a bow with the sweep of an arm to let her leave first.

  In the kitchen Anne looked up with a smile as Cornelia rushed towards her and gave her a hug. Anne whispered into Cornelia’s ear,

  “Where’s your Daddy?”

  Cornelia looked into her Mother’s eyes.

  “He’s watching TV in the sitting room.”

  “You’ve forgiven him haven’t you? You know that he can’t help himself.”

  She stroked Cornelia’s hair.

  “You mustn’t tell anyone.”

  Cornelia nodded, “I know.” Together they prepared plates with white doilies, placed angel buns, apple creams, custard slices to the left of the kitchen table and sausage rolls, hamburgers, crisps and cheese sticks to the right. On a small table beside a pine dresser, Anne had taken the vinyl record player from the sitting room and placed a bundle of singles and long players. There was Diana Ross, the Hollies, Elton John, the Carpenters and Paper Lace playing “Billy Don’t be a Hero”. Cornelia took a handful of crisps as she inspected the back garden through the glass kitchen door and sighed with relief as the rain had stopped and there was still enough light for the party to take place outside for a few hours. Anne took Cornelia’s hands, waved them in the air with her own, belting out loud the chorus of ‘Billy, Don’t Be A Hero’. Cornelia felt a wave of a smile move into place on her lips.

  Anne walked to the pine dresser and lifted a small red velvet box and handed it to Cornelia.

  “It’s for you.”

  Cornelia wrinkled her face, “What will he say?”

  Anne shook her head, “Nothing if you make sure that he doesn’t see it.”

  Cornelia opened the box, inside lay a small golden crucifix studded with three tiny rubies.

  “It is our secret.”

  There was a timid knock at the front door. Anne patted Cornelia on the back, “One of your friends has arrived. Let them in.”

  It wasn’t Francis Turner – it was Sandy Strathroy who bounced along the hall with her box of chocolate Maltesers as her present, and the news,

  “Francis rang me to say he can’t come. He’s sorry. He fell off his bike and broke his leg this afternoon. He’s still in the hospital.”

  Cornelia fell onto the chair closest to the angel buns.

  “Why didn’t he ring me?”

  Sandy raised her shoulders and threw her hands into the air,

  “He didn’t remember your number.”

  “But you could have given it to him.”

  Sandy grabbed at a sausage roll and dipped it into the dish of Heinz Ketchup.

  “What would have been the point of that when I can tell you?”

  Cornelia turned to Anne.

  “That’s it Mother – no more birthday parties. This is the last one ever.”

  ♥

  For the year following her eleventh birthday Cornelia fell out with Sandy because she had stolen Francis Turner from right under her nose. He had never fallen off his bike and broken his leg. It was all a lie. What annoyed Cornelia more than anything was that it was such a stupid lie. Of course, she found out when she went to school on Monday and there he was playing football in the school grounds at lunchtime. It puzzled Cornelia why Sandy would tell such a bad lie. It was only at the end of Monday’s classes when Cornelia saw Francis carrying Sandy’s satchel that the penny dropped. Sandy wanted it to be a bad lie. The two of them smirked at her as they squeezed past her in the corridor.

  She wondered how had she not known that there was something going on between Sandy and Francis. Cornelia and Sandy walked to an
d from school together. There was never any sign of Francis until break time. They went their separate ways after school and did their homework in the evenings. Sometimes Sandy would copy Cornelia’s homework before classes started saying that she had had a headache the night before.

  How could Sandy have come to her birthday party and dance with Cornelia to Diana Ross singing ‘You Are Everything’, when she knew that Cornelia would find out about her lies afterwards? For a year she harboured resentment against Sandy more than she did against Francis. She thought that Francis had been manipulated or brainwashed by Sandy. How? Cornelia decided to become friends again with Sandy to discover how Sandy had such power over boys. Sandy knew how to be mysterious and have secrets so that no-one – especially adults – had any idea about her life and how she was living it.

  Sandy had dropped Francis as her ‘steady’ boyfriend, so the conversation was easier than Cornelia anticipated.

  “Corneeeelia,” Sandy purred down the telephone. Cornelia imagined her standing by the phone wrapped in a huge white bath towel, her hair still wet and falling in thick curls onto her bony shoulders. She was more than likely wearing oversized fluffy pig slippers.

  “I am soooo glad that you rang. I have missed you.”

  Cornelia cleared her throat before speaking, “Me too. I thought we could still be friends. It’s silly to let someone like Francis come between us.” She paused. It sounded as if she meant it.

  Sandy replied, “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

  It was a conversation as comfortable as toasting marshmallows on a fork in a cosy sitting room close to Christmas.