The Girl She Was

by Rebecca Freeborn

  He loved me. He loved me. He loved me.

  This changed everything.

  NOW

  Layla woke to Cam shaking her shoulder.

  ‘Layla. Wake up.’

  She rolled over and opened her eyes. Their bedroom was still dark. ‘What’s going on? What time is it?’

  ‘Three thirty. Ella’s sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’

  Layla blinked a few times and realised Cam was holding Ella in his arms. She sat straight up and switched on the lamp on her bedside table. Her daughter was limp in her husband’s arms, her blonde head resting against his shoulder. She was breathing heavily, each of her breaths punctuated with a grunt on the exhale. ‘Lay her down on the bed,’ Layla said, getting to her feet to make room.

  Cam did as she requested. Ella’s head lolled to the side, a damp curl falling over her face. She’d had a cold for the last few days and had seemed to be recovering, but now her forehead was burning hot. She coughed and it came out as a harsh bark, a sound incongruent to such a small being.

  ‘Oh Christ, what’s wrong with her?’ Cam’s voice shook with fear. ‘Should I call the health line?’

  ‘It’s croup.’ Layla lifted up Ella’s nightie and watched her breathe. Her stomach retracted sharply under her ribs whenever she breathed in. ‘She’s got intercostal recession.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It means her airways are blocked. She needs to go to the hospital.’

  Layla hurriedly dressed in the clothes she’d worn yesterday. Cam looked helpless as he watched her throw a spare change of clothes in her bag and go into the bathroom to get her toothbrush. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘I’ll take her. You stay here with Louis. I’ll let you know what happens.’

  ‘But … but you were going to see Renee today.’

  She paused to look at him. ‘This is serious, Cam.’

  He looked really scared now. ‘Is she … is she going to be OK?’

  Layla forced herself to breathe, to be strong for him and for Ella, even though her own fear had wrapped its fingers around her throat and was squeezing tight. ‘She’ll be OK, but I need to get her to hospital now.’

  *

  Despite the hour, a long line snaked its way out from the window where the triage nurse stood. Layla swore under her breath. Ella was a dead weight in her arms. Occasionally, a barking cough would erupt from her, causing other parents to cast startled looks her way, but otherwise she lay silent against Layla’s chest.

  Layla felt calmer now that she was here, but the panic still lurked beneath the surface. She knew that once she’d explained Ella’s symptoms to the triage nurse, they’d be whisked straight through the double doors and into emergency. The other children who sat around the room, with their broken arms and split lips, could be waiting here for hours before they were seen, but respiratory trouble was high risk. Still, she knew she had to wait calmly in this line to be assessed, even though everything inside her was screaming to push past them all and demand to be seen immediately.

  Finally, they reached the front of the line. She knew doctors and nurses liked dealing with people like her, who had strong medical knowledge, who knew how to navigate the system. She saw the relief that crossed their carefully composed features, the recognition that lit up their eyes: You’re one of us. They were ushered through the doors and shown to a bed, where a different nurse examined Ella and attached an oxygen monitor to one of her fingers. Layla answered all the same questions again and offered extra information about Ella’s symptoms and medical history.

  ‘Are you a doctor?’ the nurse asked.

  ‘Pharmacist.’ Layla couldn’t help a little current of pride at being able to give this answer. While her job sometimes seemed dull and repetitive, she’d always been proud to be part of this industry, proud that when something went wrong, she was ruled by knowledge rather than emotion.

  Nevertheless, her heart tugged as Ella woke up and started to cry. She hugged her daughter tightly to her body as the doctor arrived and she answered the same questions for the third time.

  ‘I think Ella has a viral-induced wheeze,’ the doctor said. ‘Her oxygen sats are quite low, so what we’ll do is give her some prednisolone to open her airways, then we’ll give her three doses of Ventolin over the next hour. If she doesn’t respond as well as she should, we’ll have to admit you and monitor her overnight and tomorrow.’

  Layla held Ella still as the nurse squirted the steroid medication into her mouth with a plastic syringe. Her daughter screwed up her face and writhed in Layla’s arms, wailing. She cowered as the nurse approached with the Ventolin puffer and the clear plastic spacer, and Layla had to pin Ella’s arms to her sides and hold her with more force than she’d ever used against her as the nurse pressed the mask over her mouth and administered six puffs of Ventolin.

  Ella’s eyes gazed up into Layla’s, pleading with her to make it stop. Her terrified expression hacked through Layla’s composure and she choked back a sob. It was times like this, seeing her daughter’s fear and need, that her love for her children seemed too big, too sharp, too fragile; the very idea of losing them too much to bear. It was like a wound that never quite healed.

  ‘Good girl,’ the nurse said when she was finished. Layla wasn’t sure whether she was referring to Ella or to her. She gave Layla a little pat on the arm. ‘Try to get some rest. I’ll be back in twenty minutes for her next dose.’

  Ella turned to Layla and put her arms around her neck. Her breathing was no longer laboured and wheezy. Layla spoke softly to her, and after a while her little body grew heavy as she fell back to sleep.

  With her free hand, Layla got her phone out of her pocket and sent a text to Cam to let him know what was happening. He replied immediately; she could almost taste the relief in his words. Now that the danger was out of the way, she allowed her own relief to wash over her. Ella was going to be fine. Bringing her to hospital had been the right decision.

  But underneath her concern for Ella lay a river of worry about what Jodie would do now that Layla wouldn’t be able to go to Glasswater Bay after all.

  *

  By morning, Ella had brightened considerably. She ate the breakfast that was brought for her and chattered away to Layla, the nurses and the doctor when she came to check on her. After the long night, Layla was suddenly conscious that this was the first time in years she’d been out of the house without make-up. The glances from the hospital staff were a thousand tiny ants swarming over her naked face. She busied herself with fussing over Ella and avoided looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  Cam dropped Louis at his mother’s house and came in to see them, armed with all Ella’s favourite picture books. He hugged their daughter so tightly that she gave a little squeal. ‘Sorry, sweetie,’ he said, his eyes damp. ‘I’m so glad you’re OK.’

  ‘Silly Daddy,’ Ella said.

  Cam reached out to rub Layla’s arm. ‘How are you?’

  She gave him a smile. ‘Pretty tired. I didn’t get much sleep. But she’s OK; that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Sorry you didn’t get to see your friend today,’ he said.

  Layla shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s kind of a relief, to be honest.’

  ‘Still, you should try to reschedule the visit. She seemed so keen to catch up with you.’

  That reminded Layla that she still hadn’t messaged Jodie to tell her she wouldn’t be coming, but now the doctor came into the room on her morning round. Layla and Cam watched as she listened to Ella’s chest and tickled her to make her laugh.

  ‘She’s doing really well,’ the doctor said. ‘We’ll have to keep her here until she can go three hours between doses of Ventolin, but I anticipate we’ll be able to discharge her this afternoon.’

  Once the doctor had left the room, Cam pulled Ella into his lap to read her a book. ‘I can take over here if you still want to go to Glasswater Bay today?’ he suggested to Layla. ‘I’m sure Mum would be happy
to have Louis for the rest of the day, and I can pick him up when we get out of here.’

  Layla watched as Ella opened the book and started to flick through it, murmuring to herself. ‘I don’t want to leave while she’s still unwell.’

  ‘Go home and get some sleep, then,’ he urged. ‘You look exhausted.’

  ‘I look washed out and revolting, you mean,’ Layla said.

  ‘No, I don’t mean that at all.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Layla said. ‘You’re right. I’ll go home and have a shower, then I’ll pick up Louis.’

  He took her hand. ‘Thanks for taking over like that last night. I would’ve been a mess.’

  They shared a smile. Layla gave Ella a hug, then said goodbye to them and left, grateful to escape the clinical smell of the hospital now that she knew Ella would be OK. When she reached the car, she pulled out her phone and sent a message to Jodie explaining what had happened. The reply came back before she’d even started the engine.

  I don’t want your excuses. You make sure you’re here, or I’m telling your husband.

  Rage burned in Layla’s throat.

  You want to drag up my past to a man who’s worried to death because his daughter’s in hospital, you go for it. I’m done, she replied, then pulled out onto the road without waiting for a reply.

  By the time she got home, Jodie had messaged her back.

  I’m still living your past while you’re playing happy families. I’ll let it go for now, but I’m not dropping this.

  THEN

  I floated through the next few days. I didn’t study. I barely ate.

  Scott loved me.

  So that’s what this weird, volatile swing of emotions had been about over the last two weeks. That’s what love was. It was big, and scary, and confusing, and it hurt. All the movies told me so. But it was exhilarating too.

  He loved me.

  I ignored the warning voice in the back of my head, the whisper of Scott’s words back at the start of all this: Love is a lie.

  When I returned to work on Tuesday after school, he didn’t bring up his feelings again. In fact, we didn’t really speak at all. But as soon as he closed the cafe, he led me out to the kitchen and started kissing me and unbuttoning my shirt straightaway.

  The same thing happened on Wednesday night, and Thursday. He didn’t try anything more than what we’d already done, and my lingering anxiety competed with my desire to make him happy, to be worthy of his love.

  ‘You’ve been working a lot lately,’ Mum commented when I got home one night, my face still flushed.

  ‘It’s been busy at the cafe,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I hope it’s not interfering with your study. Your future is more important than an after-school job.’

  I muttered a vague reassurance on my way to my bedroom.

  At school, Shona constantly pumped me for information about Scott, and while I’d promised not to talk to my friends about him anymore, I couldn’t help telling her everything. Renee always seemed to find some excuse to walk away whenever the topic came up, but Shona thought it was all terribly exciting, and it was comforting to paper over my own doubts with her enthusiasm.

  I was on for the first shift at the cafe on Saturday morning, so I got there an hour early. Things went further with Scott than ever before, and I pretended to like it more than I did so he’d know how much I cared about him. When he started pushing my head downwards, I’d never been so relieved to be interrupted by Dave’s key in the cafe door so I could rush out to the front counter, pulling my dishevelled hair back into a ponytail.

  All morning, Scott found excuses to get close to me, to dance his fingers across my buttocks when we were behind the coffee machine, to brush his arm against my breast as he passed me. ‘Meet me up at The Knob again tonight,’ he whispered in my ear when I was unstacking the dishwasher. ‘We can finish what we started this morning.’

  Nervous energy skittered in my belly. I kept my head in the dishwasher as I answered. ‘I’m not sure if I can. My parents are getting weird about how much I’m going out lately—’

  ‘Oh, hi, honey.’

  I looked up, startled, to find Scott was already on the other side of the counter, scooping up a little boy into his arms. I watched, dread rising in my belly, as he hugged his son to his body, as he bent down to cup his daughter’s face in his hand, as he kissed his beautiful wife on the cheek. This morning I’d let this man do things to my body that no one else had, but this … I’d compartmentalised this aspect of his life in my brain, kept it separate from the things we did together. While he had been becoming my everything, I hadn’t let myself consider the possibility that they were his everything and I was just the distraction.

  Jodie stepped up to the counter and flashed her radiant smile at me. ‘Hi, Layla. How’s school?’

  ‘Good, thanks,’ I managed to force past the lump in my throat. ‘What can I get you?’

  Her brilliant blue eyes ran up and down the menu. ‘I don’t know why I bother looking; my husband hasn’t changed this menu in two years. I’ll have the focaccia with chicken and avocado, and two serves of the nuggets for the kids.’ She gave me a conspiratorial smile. ‘You know, before I had kids I swore I’d never order chicken nuggets. It’s amazing how quickly you sacrifice your principles when they eat nothing but white bread and pasta for two years straight.’

  My smile stretched tight across my face.

  ‘You eating with us, hon?’ she threw at Scott.

  ‘Sure, babe. I’ll have the ragu, thanks, Layla.’ He didn’t even look at me.

  ‘And two flat whites, thanks.’

  I numbly wrote down her order and took it out to Dave in the kitchen.

  Scott and Jodie sat at a table near the window. The children were noisy but well behaved. Scott doted on them. He had genial conversation with his wife. He didn’t look at me once. I couldn’t stop staring at them. They were the perfect picture of a happy family; I’d never been more aware of my own youth and immaturity.

  Yumi came in for her shift and followed my gaze to the family at the table. ‘Checking out my competition?’

  I snorted. ‘In your dreams.’

  ‘They are pretty good dreams.’ She nudged me. ‘What’s with you? Bad morning?’

  I thought about Scott’s lips on my collarbone. I thought about his fingers unhooking my bra. I thought about his hand on the top of my head, pressing down. Maybe if I wasn’t always holding back, maybe if I gave him what he needed like a normal person, maybe he’d want to sit at a table like that with me, in the open.

  ‘They’re such a good-looking couple,’ Yumi said. ‘And those kids! They almost make my ovaries explode. She’s so gorgeous, isn’t she?’

  I followed her gaze to Jodie, who was laughing at something Claire had said, her head tipped back, her teeth shining white. Everything about her demeanour said, this is all mine.

  ‘Sure, if you like looking frumpy and old.’ I turned away, ignoring Yumi’s surprised glance. Compared to Jodie, I was a stupid kid who didn’t know how to satisfy a man. I could never compete with her.

  *

  When the family had finished eating, they all got up from their table. Scott knelt in front of the kids and hugged them both. When he straightened, he put an arm around Jodie’s waist and they kissed briefly. Acid stirred in my stomach.

  ‘Bye, handsome,’ Jodie said. ‘Let’s go, kids.’

  Scott came back over to the counter. I couldn’t look at him. ‘Going for my break,’ I mumbled, taking off my apron and hanging it on the hook.

  The autumn wind bit into me as I stepped out of the cafe onto the main street, but it was a welcome relief from the hot shame that had swathed me as I’d watched Scott kiss his wife. That hadn’t looked like a dead relationship. She hadn’t looked like the kind of woman who wouldn’t let him touch her.

  I pushed aside the heavy plastic straps in the doorway of Keen’s Deli. I’d been coming here since I was a little kid, and it had barely changed over the ye
ars. Despite the chill outside, the place always smelled inexplicably of summer. Or maybe the smell was a byproduct of the memory of leaning over the edge of the ice-cream freezer to reach the last Bubble O’Bill, sand from the beach still between the toes of my bare feet suspended above the grimy black-and-white-chequered lino floor. I was gripped by a sudden longing for those simpler days, before I’d become self-conscious about the way I looked, before I’d started hating this town, before I’d got involved with a man I couldn’t have.

  ‘What can I get you, Layla?’ Bob Keen gave me his characteristic grandpa smile, leaning his elbows on the counter. His comb-over had grown thinner and greyer over the years, but his kindly eyes hadn’t changed since he’d slipped in free cobbers with my mixed lollies when I was six.

  ‘Pastie with sauce, thanks, Bob.’

  ‘You OK, love?’ He eyed me over the counter as he plunged the spout of the sauce bottle into my pastie and squeezed until the sauce bloomed out of the hole.

  I forced a smile. ‘Just tired.’

  ‘You teenagers need to get to bed earlier, then you won’t be so tired.’ He wagged a finger at me before sliding the pastie into a brown paper bag and handing it to me. I paid him and was about to walk out when he said, ‘Wait a minute, love. Here you go.’ He held out his hand, in which there was a single cobber.

  ‘Thanks, Bob.’ I took it from him, fighting the urge to cry.

  ‘You have a nice day, all right?’

  I popped the cobber into my mouth as I left the deli, and the chocolate on the outside began to melt away, exposing the hard, chewy caramel underneath. There was a small park just before the Esplanade, with a single picnic table in the middle of the square of grass. No one else was there. Bitter wind whipped in from the beach and stung my face as I sat down at the table.

  I’d just chewed the last of the caramel and started on my pastie when there was a voice by my left shoulder. ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘You’ve already had lunch, haven’t you?’ I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my tone.

  He sat down opposite me. ‘Sorry about that. I didn’t know they were coming in.’