Old memories don’t always make a great deal of sense but they sometimes bring me comfort.
Today, the prize won for sifting through hours and hours of thoughts was recalling the softness of Evie’s hair, like spun gold that laced around my fingers as I stroked her head during those long nights she would sob herself to sleep. And the smell of her damp skin after a bath, new and fresh, like morning dew.
The door opens, tipping me into the present, and I brace myself. I know the doctors can’t just switch me off, but one day, that time will arrive.
Inside I am screaming, thrashing, punching. Anything to let them know I am very much still here. Surely they have some way of knowing, of telling whether someone is alive or dead?
But the room remains perfectly silent and I remain perfectly still. I am trapped in a vacuum that exists between life and death.
I wait for the familiar voices, the medical terminology. The terrifying jargon that barely conceals the fact they are planning to murder me.
Because that’s what it would be. If they turn off the machine, they will kill me.
But the familiar voices do not come. Instead, I hear a new voice.
‘Hello, I’m looking after you, just for today. I’m doing temporary cover, you see.’ A beaming face appears above mine momentarily. She surprises me and my eyes struggle to focus. ‘I don’t know if you can hear me but I’ll carry on as if you can.’
None of the other nurses speak to me and I have never seen any of their faces.
She disappears again and I hear her humming something tuneless, busying around the equipment, taking her readings and making her evaluations.
‘It’s a nice day outside,’ she says. ‘Sunny, but not too warm, just how I like it. I’ll be going down the allotment for a couple of hours when I finish my shift. Nothing like being in the garden, is there?’
Another memory slips down and I manage to grab it.
From the first day Evie began playing in the garden at the new house, I made it my priority to keep a careful eye on her.
Being so unfamiliar with the estate, I had carried out a bit of a recce on moving-in day, walking around the exterior of the house and through the surrounding streets to get an overview of how secure the small, cramped garden was.
Unfortunately, the answer was not very.
The new house was at the end of its row. A four-foot fence surrounded three sides of the grassy back yard with a gate that did not lock. A ragged hedge separated the space from next door.
The gate led directly onto a narrow path that ran the length of the row of houses. This path in turn led onto the busy main road. The joined-on neighbours were a rough-looking family, a wretched looking woman . . . I reached for her name but it was gone . . . with her two grown up sons who seemed to spend their entire day smoking weed, if the smell leaking from the open windows was anything to go by.
There were days I had to ask myself the question, why on earth would anyone in their right mind choose to live here? What kind of mother would put her child at risk like this?
I made a promise to myself there and then that although there was nothing I could do about the decision now, I would do whatever it took to keep Evie safe. I would look after her, no matter what.
The sad thing was that, back then, I really believed that I could.
But in the end, I let Evie down just about as badly as I could have done.
8
Three Years Earlier
Toni
After all the silent moaning I’d done about Mum’s indulgent attitude towards Evie, the tables turned. After the wasp attack, I ended up thanking my lucky stars that she was around.
When we rushed outside, Evie screaming and Mum yelling, plenty of faces appeared at windows but only a lady from across the road came over.
‘I’m Nancy,’ she said, crouching down in front of Evie. ‘I’m a nurse. What happened?’
Mum told her.
‘Nasty,’ she said, scanning Evie’s stung cheeks and then reaching out to inspect her arms.
‘No!’ Evie pushed her face into the side of my leg and snatched her hands behind her.
‘Evie, let the lady see.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘It’s OK.’ Nancy smiled at her and then looked up at me. ‘Just pop some Savlon on, all the swelling should go down in a few hours. There doesn’t look to be any stings to be left in there, so she should be OK.’
‘Thanks so much,’ I said. ‘You’ve saved us a trip to the walk-in clinic and probably several hours of waiting.’
‘Just keep an eye on those stings,’ Nancy added, standing up. ‘If they start swelling or get really red and painful, it could be an allergic reaction. Then you’ll need to take her in straight away.’ She glanced over mine and Mum’s angry red stings. ‘Same goes for you two.’
We thanked Nancy and moved into the back garden, away from prying eyes.
Unsurprisingly, Evie was inconsolable. She just couldn’t seem to settle, even though she’d completely tired herself out sobbing. She sat alternately on my and Mum’s knees, half-dropping to sleep one minute and then sitting bolt upright the next with wild eyes that searched every inch of the space around us.
From the garden, Mum phoned her neighbour, Mr Etheridge.
‘Mr Etheridge is a retired pest controller,’ Mum said. ‘He’ll know exactly what to do.’
Next, I rang the police. Once we’d been through the name, number and full address rigmarole, the controller asked me what was wrong.
‘Someone deliberately placed a nest of wasps in our home,’ I said, realising it was going to be a difficult one to explain. ‘My daughter has been really badly stung. We all have.’
‘Is the offender still on the premises?’ the controller asked calmly.
‘No, there was never anyone on the premises. The flowers were delivered anonymously.’
‘And the wasps came out of the flowers?’
‘Yes. When we brought it inside, they flew out of the bouquet and stung my young daughter badly.’
‘But you don’t actually know that someone deliberately intended to harm you?’
‘I know there was half a wasps’ nest wedged in the bottom of the bouquet.’ I clenched my jaw. ‘Someone must’ve put it in there. Can you just send an officer out, please?’
As the call ended, my heart sank. If the controller’s laconic reaction to my call was anything to go by, it would probably be days before the police bothered to visit. If at all.
Mr Etheridge was round within an hour, dressed in full head-to-toe white protective gear. Even his shoes were covered, and he was sporting one of those beekeeper nets on his head. Though he seemed rather unsteady on his feet as he ambled towards us.
‘Stand back,’ he instructed, his voice raspy. ‘I’m going in.’
‘Jeez, how old is he?’ I whispered to Mum.
‘Probably in his early eighties now, but that’s not the point,’ Mum said crossly. ‘He knows what he’s doing, Toni, he had his own pest control business for years.’
Mr Etheridge disappeared into the house, closing the door behind him. Fifteen minutes later he emerged again.
‘All dead.’ He peeled back his protective head covering. ‘There were only about a dozen wasps in the room at most.’
He held up a clear plastic bag containing the crumbling remains of the grey, conical nest that had tumbled out of the bouquet. Evie whimpered and turned quickly away, pressing her face into Mum’s neck.
‘You were lucky, most of them were already dead.’ He peered at the nest. ‘Where’s your wheelie bin, dear?’
I thanked Mr Etheridge and Mum slipped him a twenty-pound note, which he readily accepted. I watched as he surreptitiously pushed a can labelled ‘Wasp & Insect Killer’ into his rucksack. It was just the regular sort of spray you could buy from any supermarket – and for a hell of a lot cheaper than the twenty quid Mum had just stumped up. But I kept my mouth shut. After all, it had got a very unpleasant job done.