Day of the Accident

by Nuala Ellwood

  A man called Charles showed us around. He was the head curator and had studied at Cambridge, which is this amazing university. The others were bored and kept tutting and rolling their eyes at him. They just wanted to go and buy rubbish in the souvenir shop and eat chips in the cafe but I stuck with Charles. He was really friendly and answered all my questions. I found out that in scientific language dead bodies are known as cadavers. I even saw one. It was preserved in a liquid called formaldehyde (I copied that word in my notebook so I would remember how to spell it) and all the blood had been drained from it. I don’t know whether you are aware of it, Mummy, but a body without blood is very drab and boring, it just looks like a piece of old cardboard. Blood is what makes us beautiful, Charles said, and I agree with him. He also said that science was all about moving from darkness into the light and as I walked around the museum, looking at all the amazing displays, that is exactly how I felt.

  Next he showed me a shelf that was filled with tiny vials of blood, all a different shade. One was almost black. It was so wonderful. I just stood there staring at them. I really wanted to pick one of them up – the scarlet one – and dip my finger into it, but Charles was standing next to me the whole time. Anyway, these things were rare artefacts. I could have been thrown out if I’d tampered with them, or worse, I could have been sent to prison!

  Anyway, the best bit for me, after the blood, was this amazing book by a man called William Hunter. I wrote down the name of the book carefully as I wanted to remember it for ever. It was called ‘The Anatomy of the Human Gravid Uterus’ and it was made in 1774. ‘Even before I was born,’ said Charles. He was very funny. Anyway, this book had lots of drawings, hundreds of them, showing the inside of a woman’s body when a baby’s inside it. And oh my goodness Mummy it was gruesome and lovely all at the same time. The baby was squeezed into this tiny space, its head facing downwards and its bottom in the air and there was no room to move. But the weirdest thing about this drawing for me was that the artist, Mr Hunter, had chopped off the woman’s legs so they looked like two bits of meat, like the disgusting lamb chops they serve us for dinner here.

  And then I felt sorry for the upside down baby because it was just like me, all alone. I asked Charles if I could see another page but the book was kept under glass and nobody was allowed to touch it in case it fell apart. So I just stayed there for the rest of the afternoon looking at that baby and wondering why Mr Hunter had made its mother dead.

  Please write back.

  Or just copy down the address at the top of this letter and come and find me.

  I love you.

  Your lovely daughter xxx

  38

  Sunday 6 August

  I can hear the faint noise of the radio trickling along the hallway. Sonia is here. She’s spent the whole morning in the kitchen making various soups and stews to put in the freezer. The smell of garlic and frying onions wafts through the air. It’s a comforting, homely smell, but it only serves to make me feel more alone as I lie here in this borrowed bed. All I can think about is Elspeth’s poem, its heartbreaking description of home and the glaring truth that she had written it as a way to get my attention. If I could go back in time I would rip up every book I ever bought, destroy every note, every document, because it was my reliance on them and my need to be validated as an intelligent person rather than someone who flunked their exams and worked in dead-end jobs for years that destroyed the greatest gift of all: being a mother to Elspeth. That little girl had drifted in and out of my life like a feather on the breeze and I should have scooped her in my arms, brought her down to earth, taken notice of her instead of locking myself away.

  And now it’s too late.

  I turn over and look at the rust-coloured curtains that hang either side of the bedroom window. There’s a brown stain on the bottom corner. ‘Never let your iron overheat or you’ll burn right through the fabric.’ My mother’s voice drifts down the decades, though I never ironed curtains – I never ironed anything, I was much too busy. Or at least that’s what I told myself. Outside I hear a car door slam then footsteps making their way up the path. The doorbell rings and I sit up in the bed.

  ‘Just coming,’ calls Sonia, clattering a pot down on the kitchen counter.

  She opens the front door and I hear Julia’s voice, asking how I am.

  I run my hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to tidy myself up then give up. Julia is a doctor. She regularly sees people at their very worst. Why should I be any different?

  ‘She’s just down here.’

  Sonia’s voice echoes along the corridor. My bedroom door opens and she peeks in and smiles.

  ‘Oh, good, you’re awake,’ she says gently. ‘Dr Mathers is here. Shall I send her in?’

  I nod my head then pull the covers up to my chest. I hear Sonia whispering outside, then after a few moments Julia comes into the room.

  She is dressed in her usual elegant trouser suit and kitten heels combination. Today the suit is a deep emerald colour that brings out the green in her eyes. I look down at my thin polyester nightdress and feel ashamed. Then I think about Sean and wonder what kind of clothes Freya Nielssen wears. I imagine her as a glacial Nordic blonde, glamorous and elegant, everything I’m not. I imagine him lying in bed with her, nuzzling her.

  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner,’ says Julia, interrupting my thoughts. ‘I had some paperwork to catch up on this morning.’

  She sits down on the end of the bed and clasps her hands on her lap. It’s then that I see her appearance is not as immaculate as I first thought. Her hair is scraped back in a messy bun and there are dark circles under her eyes. I feel a stab of guilt. Her job must be busy enough without me causing her trouble.

  ‘It’s very good of you to come,’ I say. ‘I do appreciate it.’

  She nods her head.

  ‘So, Maggie, do you want to tell me what happened?’ she says, cutting though unnecessary pleasantries. ‘When Sonia called me last night she said that you’d got caught in the rain and were in a pretty bad state.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, wishing I could disappear into the folds of the bedclothes. ‘I went down to the river by Ketton House Farm.’

  ‘Why did you go there?’

  ‘It was … it was a place where something bad happened,’ I say, not meeting her eye. ‘Something that I have a strange feeling might be connected to the accident.’

  ‘I see,’ says Julia, frowning slightly. ‘And do you want to talk about this bad thing?’

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘It’s, well, it’s rather personal. Besides, I’m fine now. The shivers have gone. Sonia made sure I had a hot bath last night.’

  Julia narrows her eyes. She doesn’t believe me for a second.

  ‘Sonia also told me that you thought the pills were making you feel dizzy,’ she says, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

  ‘I was in a bad state when I said that but … well, it’s true, since I’ve been taking the pills I’ve been feeling strange.’

  ‘What do you mean by strange?’

  ‘I’ve just been feeling numb, like all my responses have slowed right down.’

  ‘That could be the neurological effects of the accident rather than the medication,’ says Julia, her face serious.

  ‘That’s what I thought at first,’ I say. ‘But this felt different to the memory loss and actually that side of things was starting to get better, I was beginning to remember things, but then I heard Elspeth singing and –’

  ‘Hold on,’ says Julia, looking utterly confused. ‘You heard Elspeth singing?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, and then, taking a deep breath, I tell her about the night I heard Elspeth singing. I tell her about Sean’s diary and his accusations. I explain the phone call from Sharon and the woman’s name on the estate agents’ notes; the storage unit and all my things packed away in boxes marked ‘The Bitch’.

  ‘Okay, Maggie,’ she says, her voice a steady contrast to my agitated one. ‘
Let’s slow down a bit. What I’m most concerned about here is what you’ve just told me about hearing voices.’

  ‘You think I’m going mad, don’t you?’ I say, sitting up straight. ‘But I’m not – I –’

  ‘No, I don’t think you’re going mad but I do think, taking into account your medical history, we have to act fast on this.’

  I feel exposed. She is seeing my past, all the horrors I’ve hidden for so long. She knows what I’m capable of.

  ‘And for that reason I’m going to prescribe a different form of anti-anxiety medication,’ she says. ‘I’ll print off the prescription first thing tomorrow morning then either you or Sonia can come and collect it.’

  ‘More pills?’ I say.

  Julia nods her head.

  ‘I think you’ll find these a lot gentler but no less effective,’ she says.

  She stands up from the bed and straightens her jacket.

  ‘I’ll let Sonia know,’ she says. ‘In the meantime, do try to get plenty of rest, eat well and let’s organize an appointment at the surgery in a week’s time to see how the medication is going.’

  I nod my head then watch as she opens the door and steps out into the hallway. I hear her talking to Sonia about the prescription and then all is quiet. A couple of minutes later the door opens and Sonia comes in.

  ‘I brought you a cup of tea,’ she says, putting a bulky blue mug down on the table beside me. ‘How are you feeling?’

  I can’t think how to answer truthfully, so I close my eyes and lay my head back on the pillow.

  ‘I know this is hard, Maggie,’ she says, sitting down beside me. ‘And if I’m honest I’ve never had to deal with someone who’s gone through what you have. My last job was an old woman with mobility problems and the one before that was a middle-aged fella who’d broken his leg. He was a stubborn old sod that one. Anyway, what I’m saying is that in my eyes you’re doing amazingly considering what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Thank you, Sonia,’ I say.

  ‘Hey, it’s what I’m here for,’ she says. ‘Listen, I’ve been thinking. How about we try to get your stuff back from that storage unit? It will be good for you to have your familiar things around. Perhaps having some of Elspeth’s stuff will help too.’

  ‘I don’t know if I could afford to,’ I say, taking a sip of tea. ‘I’d have to hire a van and that would be expensive. I’ve got just about enough in the bank to last until my benefits come in.’

  ‘Now that’s where I can help,’ says Sonia, smiling. ‘I’ve got this mate, Sid. He’s got a big old transit van and he owes me a favour. I spoke to him this morning while you were sleeping and he said he’d come with me to empty the unit. We could have it all done by tomorrow. What do you think?’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble for your friend then that would be wonderful,’ I say, my eyes filling up. ‘Thank you, Sonia. I mean that, thank you, I don’t deserve …’

  And then all the pain and anguish of the last few months comes spilling out and I begin to sob.

  ‘Oh, Maggie, love, don’t cry,’ says Sonia.

  She takes the mug of tea from my shaking hands and puts it on the bedside table. Then she takes my hand and strokes it gently.

  ‘Hey, it’s going to be okay, I promise you,’ she says, and though I know she’s wrong, it will never be okay, I allow myself to close my eyes and for one moment let her hold me.

  39

  Dear Mummy,

  You didn’t reply to my letter. I hope you are okay.

  Things aren’t very good here.

  Zoe has been acting really strangely. Weasel Face took her to the hospital yesterday and when she came home she just laid on her bunk making strange noises, like she was in pain or crying or both. That is odd because Zoe is one of the strongest people I know and she never cries.

  When I was getting ready for bed she asked if I’d heard back from you and when I said no she said that it was no surprise. She said parents always let their kids down; that it’s part of life. She said that if she was me she would stop writing and just get on with things, stop deluding myself.

  But I think she was saying those things because she’s poorly, because of whatever happened at the hospital and because of the pain.

  I know you wouldn’t leave me here Mummy. I just know.

  Anyway I’m going to put a stamp on this letter and send it to Freya first thing in the morning.

  I’ve written my address on the top again. You can’t miss it.

  I love you.

  Your lovely daughter xxx

  40

  Tuesday 8 August

  ‘Jesus, Maggie, where are we going to put all this stuff?’

  Sonia is sitting in the middle of the living-room floor surrounded by piles of books and papers, the bulk of the contents of my ‘office’ boxes.

  ‘It must have taken you years to build up this collection,’ says Sonia, opening up a crisp hardback edition of To The Lighthouse.

  ‘Yes, it did,’ I say. ‘But then I’ve always loved books, always needed to have them around me. When I was little my family would buy me them for Christmas and birthdays and then … well, I made a great hash of my life when I was fifteen and I ended up flunking all my exams.’

  ‘Is that when you were admitted to the psychiatric unit?’ says Sonia.

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘When I collected you from the riverbank the other night you were quite delirious,’ she says, her face flushing. ‘You were begging me not to take you back there. To the unit. Look, I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘It’s actually quite a relief to not have to hide it. I’ve become very good at hiding things.’

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ says Sonia. ‘Most people will suffer with some kind of mental health issue in their lifetime.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, looking down at the books. ‘But most people don’t then go on to lose their daughter too.’

  ‘No,’ says Sonia quietly.

  I feel bad then. She’s just a young girl. How can I expect her to understand?

  ‘Anyway,’ I say. ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, my exams. I should have done resits but I was in no fit state. But books, reading, writing, those things were always a huge part of my life, particularly Virginia Woolf’s books. They got me through so much. When I read her books real life fell away and I could block out all the bad stuff. Sean used to tell this story of how we first met. I was temping as a receptionist at an asset management company. I had to sit behind this vast wooden desk and smile politely at all the suits as they arrived each morning. This one morning Sean came in for a job interview and I completely blanked him because I was so engrossed in my book.’

  My voice catches then and I stop, lost in the memory of Sean, his beautiful smile, the way he just seemed to understand.

  ‘That’s a great story,’ says Sonia gently. ‘What a way to meet your future husband.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I say, trying not to think about that day and all its promise. ‘It didn’t turn out so great, did it?’

  I stand up and look at the rest of the room. My newly discovered laptop is charging next to the socket, and there’s a pile of unopened boxes stacked up against the far wall. Those ones are Elspeth’s and though Sonia has offered to help go through them I know that I need to be alone to do that.

  ‘Shall I start putting these on to the shelves?’ says Sonia, gesturing to the books.

  ‘No, there’s no need,’ I say. ‘I can do that later. Why don’t you head home now? You’ve been such a help.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ says Sonia, standing up. ‘I’d planned to meet my mate Tina for a drink later.’

  ‘That sounds nice,’ I say as I walk her to the door. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Just into town,’ she says. ‘There’s a new bar just opened that Tina likes the look of. It’ll be full of hipsters but it should be a laugh.’

  ‘Well, enjoy yourself,’ I say, sudd
enly feeling very old.

  ‘I’ll try to,’ she says, opening the door. ‘Though we’ll probably just end up talking about our dissertations. We’re such a pair of bores. Anyway, have a good night too, Maggie. And if you need me for anything I’ll have my phone right next to me all night.’ She looks at me warily.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say brightly. ‘You go and enjoy your evening.’

  ‘Okay,’ she says, smiling. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, Sonia, and thanks again,’ I say, closing the door behind her.

  I go into the kitchen and open the cupboard. There’s a bottle of red wine in there. Sonia bought it for me when I moved in last week, a sweet house-warming gift. I shouldn’t really be drinking while I’m taking the antidepressants but one won’t harm. I don’t have any wine glasses so I take a mug from the draining board and pour a good measure into it. Then I take it into the living room and go over to the pile of boxes. I pull one of them towards me – it’s marked ‘The Bitch: Office’ – and slowly pull the masking tape off the seal. When I open it up I get a whiff of Pomegranate Noir. The two scented candles that used to sit on the bookshelves in my study have been placed on the top. I take them out and put them on the floor beside me; relics from another life. Then I dig deeper into the box and lift out notepad after notepad. I flick through them. They are filled with ideas for new books, for short stories, even a screenplay. One of the pages is filled with messy handwriting. I look closer and see that it’s an early outline of my novel. It was initially called Afternoons with Virginia, then, when it started to evolve, I’d changed the title to Drowned Words. It seemed to fit with how I was feeling. The premise was the same though: a lonely young mother conducting imaginary conversations with a dead writer. I’d thought it up when I was sitting by the stones with Elspeth a couple of years ago. She used to love to count the stones; it was a form of meditation for her. That day she had been so lost in her counting she wouldn’t answer me when I tried to engage her in conversation. So I began to talk to Virginia Woolf in my head, remembering how her words had made me feel centred when I read them at the unit. Elspeth had stopped counting then and asked what I was doing – I must have been moving my lips. When I told her, she shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘Well, don’t expect her to answer you back. I’ve tried and she never does.’