Claire loved nursery rhymes. She said they reminded her of her nana, but she was always getting the words wrong. Claire is the kind of person who sees what they want to instead of what’s actually there.
The house didn’t explode exactly. It was like it just slowly burst at the back. There was a bang, not as loud as you hear in the films, but like the silence was pulled out from under the bricks. The front of the house looked exactly the same at first, but I could soon see the flames dancing behind the windows. We heard the sirens way before we saw the fire engine. She was silent then, the smile slid off her face and tears ran down her cheeks. She cried for her parents for hours then, like a tap that couldn’t be turned off. I’ve cried for them ever since.
The smoke became a part of me that night, so that no matter how many times I washed my hair or scrubbed my skin, I could still smell it. It twisted itself around my DNA and it changed me. She said she killed them for me. She said she thought it was what I wanted, so that we could stay together, so that she could keep me safe. I’ve spent my life since wondering what it takes for a person to do something like that. She said they didn’t love her; I don’t know if that’s true. There are different kinds of love, one word could never accurately describe them all. Some are easier to feel than others, some are more dangerous. People say there’s nothing like a mother’s love, take that away and you’ll find there is nothing like a daughter’s hate.
The sound of an ambulance outside startles me and shakes the memories from my head. I stare at a tile on the hospital ceiling that doesn’t quite match the rest and it takes a good few seconds before I realise that my eyes are open. It doesn’t feel like a dream, it feels real. My eyelids seem to have just decided to roll up by themselves. The room is dark, and I can’t move my head, but I can see, I’m sure of it. I blink, then I blink again. Each time my eyes close I’m scared they won’t open again, but they do. Slowly, my eyes start to adjust to the dark and I can see my room. The window is right where it is supposed to be, but smaller than I had imagined. I can see a table next to the bed, there are some get well cards, not many. Just beyond my useless, broken body stretched out in front of me, I can see the door. I hear someone outside and see the handle start to turn. Instinct tells me to close my eyes and I plunge myself back into the darkness, back to my world of being seen but not heard.
Now
New Year’s Eve, 2016
There are people right outside. I can’t make out who they are so I keep my eyes closed. I start to interpret the words, just distilled fragments of sound straining through the tiny gap between the wood and the wall. The door opens a fraction more and the quick-spoken sentences refine themselves just enough to clarify that they’re not the voices I want to hear.
‘No, I’m sure. You head off, get a couple of hours’ sleep. No need for us all to have a shit New Year. I’ll see you in the morning.’
It’s Edward.
I keep my eyes shut and try to stay calm. He closes the door and I hear the lock turn. He leaves the lights off and walks slowly towards the bed.
‘Well, hello there, Mrs Reynolds, and how are we this evening? No change I see. Well, that’s a terrible shame.’ He walks over towards the window and I hear the sound of curtains being closed. I can picture my surroundings far more clearly now I’ve seen them. It’s less like being in a dream and more like trying to see through a blindfold.
‘It’s New Year. Did you know that? I had such high hopes for the start of 2017. Thought I’d be spending it with this girl I used to know, but: She. Fucked. Things. Up. So I volunteered to do an extra night shift, actually volunteered so that I could be with her anyway. And now it’s just the two of us, the way it always should have been.’
I hear him doing something next to the bed, but I can’t tell what.
‘I’ve been thinking about your husband a lot over the last few days and I have to say, he isn’t at all what I was expecting. The police still think he did this to you, by the way, but after everything I’ve been telling them, that’s hardly a surprise. I’m amazed they still let him into the hospital. I told them I was one of the doctors here and they believed me. But then you believed me too, didn’t you?’
He stands right next to the bed and starts to stroke the top of my head. I involuntarily hold my breath. He tucks my hair behind my ears and I can hear my heartbeat banging loudly inside them, trying to raise the alarm.
‘He’s not an unattractive man, Poor Paul, your husband, but he doesn’t take care of himself, he looks a mess, frankly. Is that why you came back to me? Did you want a real man again instead of a skinny little runt?’
He traces the side of my face with his finger, caressing my cheek and then resting his hand across my mouth.
‘It’s fine if you don’t want to answer, I understand. Besides, I learned the hard way that everything that comes out of this mouth is a lie.’
He leans down, so that he is speaking directly into my right ear.
‘You need to stop telling lies, Amber. They’ll catch up with you.’
I can’t breathe and it gets to the stage where I think I’m going to push him away but then I remember that I can’t. He removes his hand from my face.
‘He does seem to love you, I’ll give him that. But that was never enough for you, was it?’
I try to stay calm, control my breathing, bring myself back to centre. I wonder if he might kiss me again and I feel sick at the thought of his tongue inside my mouth.
‘Was he not fucking you right? Was that it? I remember how you like a good fuck, don’t you, Amber? Must be difficult, come to think of it, lying there all this time with nobody taking care of your needs. I’m prepared to take some responsibility for that, as one of the staff at this medical establishment dedicated to making you as comfortable as we possibly can.’
His hand strokes my right thigh and then slips under the covers. His fingers find their way between my legs and he pushes my thighs apart with ease. I scream inside my head as his fingers force their way inside me.
‘How does that feel? Any better?’ he says. ‘Do speak up, I can’t hear you.’ His fingers thrust harder. ‘I’ll take your silence as a no. What a shame. But then it’s hard to make people better when you’re not really a doctor. And it’s hard to be a doctor when some silly little bitch sabotages your career by sending bullshit letters.’
His whispers have grown up into shouted words. Surely someone must be able to hear him. Why don’t they come? Why does nobody save me?
‘You broke my heart, destroyed my career and thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you?’
I feel a spray of saliva as he spits his words out at me.
‘I’m a fucking night porter because of you, but that’s OK. I’ve got the keys to the whole hospital, I can lock any door and open any medical cupboard. And I know stuff. I haven’t forgotten my training. I know how to keep you here and nobody suspects a thing.’
He’s breathing faster. I have to remind myself not to move, not to make a sound.
‘Anything to say for yourself? No?’ He’s panting like a dog. ‘I still forgave you, watched you, waited for you to realise what a mistake you’d made and put things right. I still thought we might have a chance. But women like you never learn, that’s why I have to teach you a lesson, do you see?’ He stops what he’s doing and for a moment I think it’s over, but it isn’t. ‘I saw you here at the hospital two years ago, when your bitch of a sister gave birth. You walked right past me. Twice. As though I was nobody, as though I was nothing to you. I followed you home that day. I’ve loved you for almost twenty years and you didn’t even remember me. Well, perhaps you’ll remember me now.’
I hear him unfasten his belt. I hear a zip. He turns on a light above the bed then roughly pulls the sheet down and my gown up.