by Louisa Reid
‘What are you smiling like that for?’ asked Leo over breakfast, and I just smiled harder and sipped my tea. He didn’t need to know. It was my secret.
‘I just reckon it’s a good day, that’s all,’ I said. ‘I’m going to try again with Pete, and I think today’s the day. Look, the sun’s shining for a change; that’s a good sign.’ Leo agreed, munching on toast, spilling his coffee as he spoke about all the ways in which everything was good and was going to get even better.
‘Optimism,’ he said. ‘We’re the last of the eternal optimists, Aud.’ Kissing me as we walked out of the farm, on our way to school.
It was easy to ignore Lizzy’s smirks and jibes when I was in this mood. I walked over to the primary school at lunch, carrying a bar of chocolate I’d bought for Peter from the canteen. They weren’t really allowed chocolate, but I thought I’d sneak him a few squares as a treat and beg him to let me walk him home.
But the receptionist said he wasn’t in. Everything stopped. A thudding started in the back of my brain, slow, steady, determined.
‘Why?’ I managed to ask.
‘Your mum called in. He’s had a tumble.’ She gave me a sympathetic smile. The banging in my ears grew louder.
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘No. Just that he’d be straight back to school as soon as he was better. Poor little sausage.’
I ran back to college, then stopped, screeching to a halt on the drive. No, I couldn’t go into class. Peter was not well. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I spun round, ran back out of the gates and down the streets towards my brother, the crashing stamp of the Thing building and growing, demanding I come home.
The Grange was waiting. The water moved fast in the wind, rippling and stirring, and I ran over the bridge, across the gravel, not pausing to stare. Up the stairs, two at a time, I stood on the landing and forced my heart to slow. It was rushing fast, a clock overwound.
No one answered when I knocked and banged on the door, so I went back outside and walked up and down the drive, then sat on the long concrete steps of the Grange, certain that eventually they’d return.
The car pulled up the drive. At first I couldn’t see Peter; it looked as though only Mum was in the car, and my heart dived. Where had she left him? I ran forward as she parked up, and banged on her window.
‘What?’ She opened the car door.
‘Where’s Peter?’
She nodded, gesturing over her shoulder. He was asleep on the back seat, a blanket over him, most of it dangling on the floor.
‘Is he OK?’ His mouth hung open; he was dribbling on the seat, his hand loosely resting beside his face. Pale. He looked so little. I remembered him in his cot, blond hair curling on the white sheet, eyelashes casting delicate shadows on his perfect soft cheeks. I’d sat beside him, peeping through the bars of his cot, sat and watched him sleeping, waiting for him to wake, making sure he didn’t cry. And now I’d left him. How could I?
‘He’s fine,’ Mum insisted.
She unbuckled her seatbelt, pushing herself up to stand beside me before slamming the door, making the car shake. I jumped.
‘What are you doing hanging around here?’
‘I wanted to come and visit. I’ve been worried.’
But too scared. Too scared to see what was happening. Blindly believing that all was well, all was normal.
Mum opened the back door and shook my brother awake.
‘Come on, lazy bones,’ she said. ‘Get in the house.’
And Peter struggled up, wincing as he climbed out of the car. I stared, stepped forward.
‘What’s happened to Peter? What’s the matter with him?’
‘Nothing. He fell over playing football. I took him to A and E. It’s his ankle, twisted. Maybe a break – they weren’t sure. He might need another X-ray. We’ll go back tomorrow.’
I ran forward and picked up my brother. He nestled into my shoulder, still sleepy, and we followed her inside. As I carried him, I tried to be clear.
‘What do you mean he fell over? How? How could he twist his ankle that badly?’
Mum didn’t answer. I held him closer; Peter’s skin felt hot, clammy and damp. His breath didn’t smell right either, too sickly, too sour. I whispered that it would be OK, that I was here now. He whimpered a little, clung tighter, but still said nothing.
‘What do you want?’ Mum turned to look at me when I pushed my way into the flat, still holding my brother in my arms. He was heavy, a dead weight, but I didn’t want to let him go. Mum sounded bored; she lit a cigarette. I watched the smoke rise, curling like a noose, and carried Peter to the sofa, kneeling down beside him. His ankle was strapped up with thick tight white bandages. I put my hand to his forehead, then rested my cheek, gently, against his skin, feeling it burn. Opening his eyes, Peter looked at me, bewildered, scared, and grabbed my fingers.
‘Can you read me a story, Aud?’ he whispered, then rubbed at his face, blinking. I nodded, swallowing back tears, and tried to smile again.
Mum was watching.
‘I suppose you want money off me, don’t you?’ she said. ‘I suppose that’s why you’re here.’
‘No. Please, Mum, let me stay, just for a bit.’ I looked at her. ‘I’ve missed you both. And I’m worried about you. Managing everything. Work, and looking after Pete. Let me help.’
There was another pause. Her breathing was heavy as she considered. The sound of her sucking on her cigarette filled my ears, like the hiss of the water, the pull of the tide.
‘We don’t need help, not from anyone,’ she said in the end. A smell drifted from the kitchen as she wandered away – burning hair, burning skin. Peter needed me. It wasn’t safe for him here.
‘Are you all right, baby?’ I asked.
‘Not a baby, Aud,’ he said, and I smiled, touched his cheek.
Peter shut his eyes, shifted on the sofa, squirming, his face twisted up.
‘Does it hurt, Pete?’ I asked, and he nodded, just a tiny movement of his head. I ran to his room for his blanket and a pillow and a book.
Mum was standing in the doorway.
‘He’ll need his medicine soon,’ she said, checking her watch.
I looked at her.
‘I’ll give it to him,’ I said. She shook her head and looked at me as if I were mad.
‘Stay, Aud – I want you,’ Peter whispered, pulling at my sleeve, grabbing with both hands.
I followed Mum into the kitchen.
‘When are you coming home, then?’ she asked. ‘You’ve made your point. You got your own way. But it seems like you can’t keep away, doesn’t it?’
‘Soon, Mum. I’ll be home soon.’ I tried to see what she had out on the worktop, what medicine my brother might be taking, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual rubble of stuff.
‘Does that mean tomorrow? Next week? Next month? I need to know. I have my plans to make. If you don’t come back, I could rent that room out. It’s costing me.’
‘Soon,’ I said. There was no way Peter could come back to the farm with me now; no way she’d let that happen. ‘Tomorrow,’ I said, deciding, ‘as soon as I’ve packed up my stuff. I’ll be here in the morning. Right, Mum? And leave Peter alone. I’ll be back to look after him, OK?’
‘He’s my son, Audrey,’ Mum said. ‘I’m the one who does the looking after round here. Not you.’
Much later, when I got back to the farm, Leo wanted to know where I’d been. He didn’t say it, but he sat playing the piano, waiting for me to tell him.
‘Peter needs me,’ I said in the end.
‘Why? What’s happened?’
I stood up and sat beside him, touching a key: a low, deep note. He took my hand and began to examine the lines, gently tracing my future, and I did not dare ask what he found.
‘Nothing much. I guess I shouldn’t have left him in the first place.’
‘What do you mean? He’s OK, isn’t he? Has something happened?’ Leo didn’t get it. Whate
ver he thought, I couldn’t stay at the farm with him forever, like we were living in some fairy tale. Reality was different. This was it: I was going back. I had to choose. Me or Peter. The farm or the Grange. My brother needed me; he’d always needed me, and I’d abandoned him. I’d left him lonely and afraid. I was selfish and thoughtless and cruel. Like Mum.
‘Yeah, he’s OK. It’s just, Mum works a lot. And that means that it’s easier if I’m around to make sure Pete’s OK.’
Leo stood up and began to pace, running his hands through his hair.
‘Look, Aud, I know things are weird with your mum. That’s stating the obvious. But you can’t let her keep getting away with it.’ He stared out of the window, still talking. ‘Obviously because she’s your mother it’s hard. But sometimes you have to stand up for yourself.’
‘I have. Why do you think I’m even here? I’ve made my point and now I have to straighten things out.’ I went to join him. The Grange looked way too near tonight, black against the night sky. My head thudded, the echoing aftershocks of the afternoon.
‘Yeah, I know. I know. But you shouldn’t back down now,’ he continued.
‘I’m not backing down. Things will be different.’
Leo turned and looked at me. His expression was hard. ‘I don’t think you should go back.’
He knew what I was planning and I searched his face for understanding, wrapped my arms round his waist, put my head on his chest. He stood still, not returning my hug, his body tense. I let go.
‘What would you suggest I do, then? Just forget about Peter? About my family?’
Leo turned away. I didn’t need this. It wasn’t helping.
‘Can’t you be nice about it? Please?’ Curling my fingers into fists, I stopped myself from touching him. I didn’t know how to have this argument.
‘No. Sorry. I think it’s the wrong decision, Audrey.’ Leo looked back at me, his eyes really dark, his voice very serious. I wanted him to smile. I wanted him to nod and agree.
‘But it’s my decision. I’ll be all right. There’s nothing to worry about. Me and Mum, we had a row. I left. That kind of thing happens to people all the time. No big deal. You knew I couldn’t stay here forever. You knew I’d go eventually.’
He held up his hands, warding me off, trying to calm things.
‘All right, sorry I spoke. I wanted to say though, if you need help, you can talk to me. I want to help, that’s all.’
I focused on the facts. It was up to me to get back to look after Peter.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered, ‘but we’re fine. There’s nothing to worry about.’
Leo shrugged. I wanted to scream at him, My brother needs me; he needs me more than you do. But I couldn’t. The words were trapped. All my words were trapped.
‘Can you leave me alone, please?’ I whispered. ‘I need to be on my own.’
‘Sure,’ Leo said, and he left and shut the door very, very quietly behind him.
Audrey
I packed my things that night, then went and tapped on Leo’s door.
Leo was awake. He smiled and told me to come in. We sat by the window for a while, staring out together. It was close, cramped on the little seat. There wasn’t much to say. I wanted a better goodbye, I suppose.
Outside a light rain began to fall, tapping very softly on the window.
He peered outside. ‘It’s raining.’
I shrugged.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said.
How could I tell him that everything had changed? There weren’t the words for it. I counted the days on my fingers, just over three weeks. That’s how long we’d had. Just twenty three days. If it hadn’t been for Sue, shouting up that Leo had a phone call, I don’t know what I might have said. There was no point though in saying anything at all, so I went down to the kitchen and sat on my own, staring at the laptop screen, trying to breathe, to slow everything down, to think straight.
I typed in a few words.
Mothers who hurt their kids
Mothers who make their kids ill
Hundreds of pages shot back at me. I could have sat there all night reading, but I heard Sue coming and shut the page fast.
Four words stuck in my mind: factitious disorder by proxy. Whatever they meant.
Leo knocked later and I pretended to be sleeping. I was still thinking about the words. And then the dream began.
It started with my mother. Right beside me, I could feel her, smell her, hear her humming, filling my ears with her song. She straightened my sheets, called me, trying to rouse me from sleep. But my legs were fixed, my arms pinned. My body had been shaped and cut to fit this bed, nailed into place, and I wanted to wake, to run, to fly. But the song flattened me, like a spell, knotting like a sheet, a paralysing shroud. My mother held a feather to my lips. It did not stir. And then I saw something rise. My shadow. My reflection. The Thing. The thumping started, merged with her humming – a terrible song, thick and deep – and I was sinking and drowning and almost, almost dead. The Thing climbed from my body, drifted out of my pores, seeped into the room. It took shape. And when it turned and looked at me for a moment, its face was full of holes.
Someone was shaking me awake. For a second I was still in the dream and screaming. It was Mum. It was the Thing.
‘No!’ I screamed, lashing out, ready to fight. ‘Get off me – get away.’ Pushing, shoving with all my strength. I wasn’t going to bleed again; I wasn’t going to die.
‘What’s the matter? Audrey? Is it a nightmare?’
Sue.
Her voice stopped me and I sobbed.
‘I’m sorry, Sue. Yes, just a bad dream, I think. Sorry.’ The room adjusted, repairing itself in the light that came in from the doorway, where Leo stood, framed and staring. I wanted to tell him to come to me, wanted to let him care. But I didn’t call and Sue held me instead. It was better that way.
Leo didn’t agree. An hour later, just as first light broke, he was there, shaking me awake.
‘Sorry, Aud,’ he whispered, ‘but you have to get up now.’
‘What?’ I groaned, my body aching, my head sore.
‘Remember? I promised you, we’d go see the seals. It isn’t spring, but we’d better go now, I think. I don’t want to wait.’
He pulled open my curtains; the sun was just coming up and the sky was clearing. I stood beside him and we watched it lifting from the horizon, spreading waves of light over the dark fields. Transforming the world.
‘It’ll be cold,’ he said. ‘Bring a jumper, a coat, and hurry.’
He packed a flask of coffee, bread and jam, bananas. Sue was already up and out.
‘She says we can take the car.’
I followed Leo into the cold morning, still bleary-eyed, and climbed up into the seat beside him. Not touching though.
‘OK. Hang on.’ Leo rumbled the engine into life, his face set in concentration.
‘There, sit next to me,’ he said, and I moved along the seat, scrunched up closer. A little warmer. But this was torture. I edged away again.
‘It’s not far; don’t worry. We’ll be there in an hour.’ We pulled out into the back lane, then he jumped out to shut the gate.
‘An hour?’ I called, but he was smiling as he climbed back into his seat.
‘Yup. What’s an hour in the grand scheme of things? It’s nothing, right? We’ll be back early afternoon.’
But my brother was sitting in the Grange waiting for me, and every minute was cruel now; not knowing how he’d slept, how he was feeling, or what Mum was doing. I had to get back fast. This was a waste of a time.
‘I’ve thought of other things, Audrey, things we can do.’ Leo cast another look my way as the car ate up the miles. I tried to look like I cared.
‘Yeah, what?’
‘We should go to a festival, in the summer. All of us. You, me, Pete. Meet up with some of my old mates.’ I wondered if he meant that shiny girl and tried not to mind.
‘Yeah, that’d be good,’ I said, wa
tching the clock. I couldn’t think about tents and campfires or sunshiny skin and hours outdoors. Those things were for other people. The Grange was waiting for me.
‘We could camp. Stay up all night. Stare at the stars. I think I’m going to get a guitar, start playing again.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ I said. Leo frowned, but I stared out of the window and we didn’t talk again until we arrived.
There were a few other passengers waiting for the trip. Leo bought tickets, held out his hand to help me down into the boat, and we sat apart from the others, his arms holding me close. The sea slapped the sides and I squealed as the spray hit my face. Leo wiped my glasses for me, put them back on my nose, fixing them gently round my ears.
‘You warm enough?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good,’ he said, and he kissed me in front of everyone and I didn’t care. I couldn’t feel it now. It was stupid to feel anything.
‘Wait till you see the seals,’ he said. ‘Seriously, they’re cute.’
And they came, nosing around the boat; inquisitive little faces peering at these aliens come to invade their world. There were birds too: gannets, gulls. A curlew. Leo told me their names and I sat and watched it all as if from a distance, as if another girl sat in that boat with that boy who was handsome and kind and good. My mind drifted.
‘We could steal a boat,’ I said, ‘set out to sea. Never come back.’
‘We could.’ He put his cheek against mine. So soft, just a scratch of stubble. His breathing sweet and slow. Eyelashes tickling. And the wind pulling his hair up and out of his face, mixing it with mine. I pulled away.
‘Where would we go?’ I said, leaning over the edge, trailing my fingers in the water.
‘France, Italy, Australia, the world,’ he murmured, ‘anywhere you like. I’ll go with you; just ask.’
‘Some day,’ I said, and the wind caught the words, threw them wistfully into the sea, where they churned in the waves, were thrown like flotsam on the shore.
Leo
There was so much he needed to say to her. But it was like treading a path through fire. She could flare at any moment, burn him with her words. It had happened before, the heat searing her cheeks, her eyes flashing bright with tears. It was clear she didn’t want to be here; he’d thought she’d love it, but she hadn’t smiled once. Leo thought about his mum. If someone said something against her. That she was a pushy bitch. That she had hurt him. If Graham asked Leo who was responsible for his breakdown. Not that Graham ever had, it wasn’t his job to apportion blame, he said. But what would Leo say? Would he just say, ‘My mother,’ and leave it at that? He didn’t think that would be right or fair. What about everything she’d given him? Did he just throw that on the heap? Pretend none of it was worth anything?