All of Me (10 page)

The man called Sam spoke again, trying to cajole a response from his silent caller. ‘I’m not doing anything if you just want to talk.’

Nothing.

‘Hello? Hello? It’s all right, whatever you want to say won’t go any further.’

Rebecca listened, smiled, then replaced the receiver in its cradle. She was glad she’d called. It was comforting to hear the stranger’s voice.

Then she picked up the bottle of white tablets and tipped them into her mouth.

‘W
hat are you playing at?’

Mum was leaning over me. I was in bed.

‘Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through?’

She was angry. Jabbing her finger when she spoke. Crutches leaning against her chair. And she’d been crying as well.

What have I done now?

Right: deep breath, collect the evidence. Harder than usual.
My eyesight was fuzzy, like a TV with a weak signal. I blinked -
nothing
– then scrunched my face trying to tune the picture in. Then I shook my head. Big mistake. It was pounding, as though my brain were trying to fight its way out.

Focus, Patricia. What do you see?

It wasn’t my room. I knew that. Too big and the wrong colour. And too bright as well. No wonder I couldn’t keep my eyes open. And who were the other people? They were in white and blue.

Memories of visiting Mum at Mayday came flooding back.

Nurses. Doctors.

I was in the hospital. But why? I arched my head left. There was machinery as far as I could see. It was like being in an episode of
The Six Million Dollar Man.
Mum was staring at me, waiting for an answer. I didn’t know anything. Normally I would have worked it out by now. This time I was stuck. I knew I was in a hospital bed and I knew I was hooked up to some scary-looking equipment. Something was wrong. But that was as far as it went. Whatever Mum was mad about I’d have to work out later. At the moment she knew more than me.

I needed to tell her something – even if it was just my usual ‘I don’t know’ – so I cleared my throat.

Ouch!

It was as though someone had set light to my chest. Searing, hot pain coursed from my lungs up into my mouth. I had to cough to clear it but that just made the fiery pain worse.

What the hell are these machines doing to me?
I wondered angrily. Instinctively I pulled my head away. I needed to escape.
They’re burning me inside.

A woman appeared next to me. She didn’t look angry like Mum but she wasn’t smiling either.

‘Relax, Kim, just take it easy.’

As she spoke she reached over to check a cable running from the machines – into my arm. I was plugged in! I hadn’t noticed. There was a clear tube coming out of my left hand. I panicked for the first time and tried to scratch it off.

‘Stop that, Kim!’ the woman said. Her voice had changed now, from calming to firm. She grabbed my hands and separated them.

‘Listen to the nurse,’ Mum’s voice reasoned. ‘You’ve done enough damage.’

I looked up at the woman and finally she smiled.

‘You need to rest,’ she explained, her voice warm again. ‘Don’t speak if you can help it. You’ve been through a lot.’

I nodded but with my head flat on my pillow the movement was almost imperceptible. It was enough for the nurse. She checked something else on the machines, dabbed a cloth on my forehead and stood back.

‘She’ll be in pain for a while,’ she said, obviously addressing my mother. ‘Don’t rush her. She’ll speak when she’s ready.’

Thank you, nurse,
I thought. She had bought me some time. But still I was none the wiser. Why was I here? What had happened to me?

And why did Mum look like she wanted to kill me?

I began to search for the jigsaw pieces, starting as usual with the edges. What was the last thing I remembered? Being at home. Before that it had been school. What had happened to me in the interim? Maybe I’d fallen, tripped down the stairs, or become sick. I flexed my foot and felt my toes respond. As far as I could make out, there was nothing physically wrong with me. It was just my throbbing head, sore eyes and burning throat.

No good,
I thought.
I haven’t got a clue what’s going on.

Before I’d just panicked. Now I felt scared. Piecing things together was part of my life. It was just routine, something I did naturally. Something I thought we all did daily. Normally it gave me answers. This time I was scratching my head. The few things I could deduce didn’t bode well. I was in the hospital, in pain. After the year our family had endured, that was the last place I felt safe. When Dad had gone in they’d removed half his stomach. Mum had been in agony for ages while she was stitched up after her accident. And most recently, of course, Nan had been taken there.

I needed to get out but that couldn’t happen until I knew what was wrong – or what they thought was wrong – with me.

I don’t know how much time passed. When I looked again Mum wasn’t there. The nurse – or was it a different one? – was clearing away some equipment. I studied it for clues. It was all pretty nondescript apart from one thing: a long, black tube. It reminded me of an old torture device I’d seen during history at school. I couldn’t imagine what place it had being in a hospital.

The nurse noticed me watching her.

‘Oh, you’re awake?’ she said cheerily.

I think I grunted something like ‘yes’ and nodded again. The pain in my neck was still there but I had more mobility this time. But after that I was silent, desperately fishing for information. I’d learnt that the less you said, the more others filled the gaps. Most people can’t stand silence.

‘I hope you won’t be so silly again,’ she went on. ‘You might not be so lucky next time.’

Silly? Next time? Lucky? What was she talking about?

‘What’s that thing for?’ I pointed at the tube.

‘This is the thing that saved your life, that’s what it is.’

Still none the wiser.
‘What does it do?’

Without breaking her stride the nurse explained, ‘It’s what we use to pump the stomachs of naughty girls who have eaten things they shouldn’t have.’

‘Oh,’ I said. Then I realised she was talking about me.

‘Is that why my throat is on fire?’

She laughed. Gallows humour, I think they call it. ‘Your throat and plenty else I imagine. I really hope you never have to have it done again.’

She left the room and I watched her go. She’d seemed nice enough and I guess she’d wanted me to get better. But the only word in my head was, ‘Liar!’ I’d never heard so many lies in my life. The more I thought about it the angrier I got.

How dare they do this to me! I should call the police. Doctors can’t go around shoving pipes down kids’ throats for no reason. Why didn’t Dad and Mum stop it?

What was it the nurse had said? ‘Naughty girls who have eaten things they shouldn’t have’. That was it. What did she mean by that?

What had I eaten? If anything, I was hungry; starving in fact. I felt like I hadn’t touched a crumb for days.

I determined to have it out with her next time she came in but I must have fallen asleep first. The next thing I remember is Mum being back again. She was wearing different clothes. She must have gone home to change.

‘Why did you do it?’ she asked again.

‘Do what?’ I replied.

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

‘No one can help you if you don’t tell the truth.’

God, it was worse than being sent to the headmaster’s office. Why were people always accusing me of things I hadn’t done? It was so unfair.

‘I am telling the truth,’ I insisted. ‘What did I do?’

‘There’s no helping you, is there?’

And that was her last word on the matter. She spoke about other stuff, like school friends who’d asked about me, messages from family, gossip from the street. That kind of thing. But she refused to be drawn on the reason for my being there. That was a mystery I would have to unravel without her.

Where do I start?

Suddenly I was at home. I closed my eyes in the hospital and woke up in my own bed. I didn’t question it. I often found myself waking up when I couldn’t remember going to sleep. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that. The only question on my mind was why I had been attacked by the doctors like that. It still hurt to swallow and the idea of eating anything made my stomach turn.

Nan wasn’t happy to see me home. She kept saying I’d betrayed her. I couldn’t work out why. That was horrible enough. Then I saw her have a row with Dad. Nan was shouting, ‘They were mine, she had no right taking them!’ and Dad was yelling, ‘You should be more careful where you leave these things!’ It was worse than watching him argue with Mum.

Speaking of Mum, she pretty much ignored me for a while. It was as if our hospital chats had never happened.

The worst thing about being home was the nightmares. Bedtimes were bad enough generally but each night I’d wake, sitting bolt upright, thinking of some hideous half memory. I had no idea what was triggering the response but the result was the same each night. Sometimes Dad called out to me to shut up. Other times Lorraine came rushing in or Mum’s voice drifted up from the front room. Was I all right? What was going on?

I was fine, but as for what was happening to me, I had no idea.

After a few days’ recuperation at home Mum decided I was well enough to go back to school. I was actually grateful. The atmosphere at home between Mum and Dad wasn’t great. Mum was still sleeping downstairs even though her leg was a lot better. Maybe she wasn’t in a hurry to get back up with Dad.

Breathing too heavily still felt like sandpaper on my lungs so I took it easy that first day back at school. As soon as my friends saw me I was bombarded by attention – and questions.

‘Are you all right?’

‘What were you in for?’

‘Did you have an operation?’

‘I heard it was your heart.’

I batted them all away as best I could.

‘I’m fine. It was nothing. Just a check-up.’

Nobody swallowed that. I’d been away too long. The majority of people quickly lost interest, though. Those that didn’t were just annoyed by the obvious lie.

‘We’re your friends. You can tell us.’

Still I kept my own counsel. What was I meant to do? I didn’t have a clue what had happened. All I could say for sure was that the doctors had kidnapped me and performed some sort of illegal operation. I couldn’t understand why my parents weren’t making more of a fuss. Look how Mum had exploded when I tore my tights at school.

Then the mood started to turn. My friends didn’t believe my story. Whispers started doing the rounds. I was a liar. I had secrets. No one would be my friend.

Then they pulled out the big guns.

‘I heard she tried to kill herself.’

‘At one point she was technically dead.’

‘School drove her to it.’

‘She’s just an attention seeker.’

It seemed that everyone had an opinion. Some of the rumours were obviously flights of fancy. Some of them were just plain vicious – complete strangers were passing the gossip on to me by accident and it was getting worse with every telling. The consensus, however, was that I was a liar. And completely mental.

Just what I need.

One by one my friends began to drift away, even though I swore nothing had gone on. I don’t remember many conversations with anyone after that. Everywhere I went, though, there was the sight of people turning away from me, accompanied by that unmistakeable sound of a conversation halted as soon as you enter the room. It was incredibly unsettling. When I needed my friends more than ever to help me through the weird hospital experience, this was what I was faced with.

What’s their problem? How would they like it?

Facts didn’t come into it. Yes, I’d seen the black tube used, so the nurse claimed, to pump my stomach. Yes, my nan had told me to steer clear of her medication. And, yes, everyone was speaking as though I’d popped handfuls of pills. But I knew I hadn’t. It didn’t matter what anyone said. I knew it was all lies.

And then a fortnight later it started all over again …

‘I thought we’d seen the last of you.’

The voice was familiar. I opened my eyes. No, I must have been mistaken. I’d never seen this elegant-looking woman before in my life.

Her eyes were fixed on mine, waiting for them to open and focus on her. I couldn’t place her mood. She just looked sad.

‘You can’t go on like this,’ she said softly. ‘We’ve got to sort you out.’

I went to say something but there was an explosion of pain in my chest.

Oh, God, I’m back here again.