Lifesaving for Beginners (34 page)

The grandfather puts his hand on top of Janet’s.

Janet says, ‘It takes Katherine a good while to come round to things.
Even when she was a child.
It took her ages to get over starting school.
Mrs Higginbotham said she cried every morning for a year and a half.
And after that, well, I suppose she just got used to it.’

I want to know who Mrs Higginbotham is, but I don’t ask.

That’s when Ed bursts into the room.
Janet looks up and says, ‘You have parsley sauce on your chin, Edward.’

My napkin is folded on the table beside me so I pick it up and shake it out and use it to wipe round my mouth.
I don’t think I have parsley sauce on my chin but you can never be sure.

Ed wipes his chin with his hand.
His face is really red, like he’s done something embarrassing, which he hasn’t, as far as I can tell.
He keeps on walking until he reaches Faith.
He says, ‘I got you a present.’
He takes a squashed blue box out of his pocket and he puts it on the table.
He says, ‘You’re not supposed to open it yet,’ but he doesn’t say when you are supposed to open it.

Faith looks at the box and says, ‘Why did you get me a present?’
instead of just saying, ‘Thank you,’ like you’re supposed to.

Ed says, ‘Because I’m your uncle.
I’m your Uncle Ed.’

And then Faith remembers and she says, ‘Thank you.’
Her voice is so quiet it’s nearly a whisper but I think Ed hears her because he smiles and Faith smiles back and, for a moment, everything feels dead nice.

I can’t help thinking about dessert.
It looks like the kind of house where there might be dessert.
And I don’t mean just biscuits or Mars bars.
I mean proper dessert.
Like pavlova.
I love pavlova.
Mam said it was because she ate buckets of it when I was in her belly, waiting to be born.

Leonard looks at me just then and there’s a chance that he could be a mind-reader because he says, ‘Dessert!’
Just like that.

Faith says, ‘No, we should go.’

Leonard says, ‘Stay a little longer, Faith.
I’m sure Milo would like some dessert.’
He looks at me and smiles.
He has one of those smiles that end up all over his face.
‘Wouldn’t you, lad?’

I say, ‘Is it pavlova?’
Faith catches my eye and glares at me, which means that I’m not supposed to ask that question.
It’s hard to remember everything.

Ed shouts, ‘Vienetta!’
and he runs into the kitchen and comes back with a gigantic box of Vienetta that hasn’t even been opened yet.
It’s not as good as pavlova but it’s still pretty good because it’s chocolate and ice cream, all mixed up together.

Ed gets a bit shy when he talks to Faith.
He says, ‘Would you like some?’
in a dead polite voice.

Faith says, ‘No, thank you,’ but then Ed looks really disappointed so Faith says, ‘Actually, I will have a slice.
Just a small one, please,’ and that makes Ed smile again.
I don’t know why.
I’d be happier if no one else had any.
Then there’d be more for me.

I’m much quicker eating dessert than dinner.
When I’m finished, I want to lick my plate, but you’re not supposed to when you’re in someone else’s house.
I wipe the ice cream off the plate with my finger when no one is looking.

Faith says, ‘No, thank you,’ to coffee and tea.
She catches my eye.
I go and get our coats.

The grandfather says, ‘I could drive you over to Kat’s apartment?
It’s not far.
You’d have time.
Before your flight.’

Faith says, ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ just like Mam told us to do.
Janet nods her head.
She’s the only one who hasn’t finished her dessert.
I wonder if she’s going to be able to eat it all.
She doesn’t look like someone with a huge amount of room in her stomach.
Faith moves towards the door.

Ed says, ‘Can’t Milo stay?
Just for a little bit?
We haven’t finished the game and he’s still got one life left.’

Janet says, ‘Say goodbye, Edward.’

The grandfather picks up his car keys and Faith says, ‘We don’t need a lift, but thanks all the same.’
He puts his car keys back on the table.
He doesn’t even argue.
It’s like he already knows that there’s no point arguing with Faith.

I say, ‘See ya, Ed.’

Ed says, ‘See ya, Milo,’ and he gives me a gigantic hug that nearly squashes me flat.
I can’t move my arms.
After a really long time, he lets me go and holds up his palm for a high-five.
We high-five.

The grandfather shakes my hand.
That’s twice in one day.
Nobody has shaken my hand since the day in the church.
Loads of people shook my hand that day.
My hand hurt, with all the shaking.

Janet talks to me like I’m an adult or something.
She says, ‘It was lovely to meet you, Milo.’

In the hall, there’s a photograph of Kat and Ed standing in front of a pond.
Ed is about my age in the photo, I reckon.
Kat has her arms on his shoulders, as if she’s worried he might fall in.

Faith sees the photo too.
She says, ‘Do you have any other children?’

Janet shakes her head.
‘No.
Just Katherine and Edward.’

Faith says, ‘Well, thanks again.’
She holds out her hand so that Leonard can shake it, which is weird because he’s her granddad when you think about it.
Still, he shakes her hand as if he’s not her granddad.
As if he’s just an old man she happened to meet one day.

He says, ‘It was so lovely to meet you, Faith.
To finally meet you.’

Janet says, ‘Yes.
It was.’

Leonard says, ‘I’ll give Kat your phone number.
I’m sure she will .
.
.’
Janet puts her hand on his arm and he stops talking, right in the middle of his sentence.

She turns to Faith and she says, so quietly I can barely hear her, ‘I’m so sorry, Faith.’

Faith nods, and I slip my hand inside hers, only because she looks like she could do with warming up.
And it’s true: her hand is freezing.
I hold it as we walk out through the door and down the eight steps to the driveway.
It’d be nice to jump them.
I bet it would feel almost like flying, jumping from the top of those steps.

When we get to the end of the driveway, I turn round.
Janet and the grandfather are still at the door and they wave so I wave back, but Faith doesn’t turn round.
She just keeps on walking.

May 1987

The nurse says, ‘Bend your knees .
.
.
that’s it .
.
.
Shuffle your feet up.
Right up, towards your bottom .
.
.
that’s right .
.
.
As far up as you can .
.
.
OK, now let your knees fall apart .
.
.
that’s right.
Good girl.’

The nurse’s head disappears between my legs.
I feel something cold.

‘Relax, relax now, like a good girl.’
When she stands up, she peels a pair of latex gloves off her hands.
I see blood on the fingers.

She says, ‘All done,’ like the woman in Arnott’s when she’s fitting me for a new school tunic.
‘That episiotomy is healing nicely.’

I don’t know what an episiotomy is.
I don’t care.
The nurse walks around the cubicle, pulling the curtain behind her until I’m in plain view again.
I pull the sheet up to my chin.

She says, ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine.’

She writes something on a piece of paper stuck to a clipboard.
‘Let me know if you want to talk to someone.
There are people here you can talk to.’

‘When can I go home?’

‘The doctor will talk to you later.’

Three days.

That’s how long I have to stay.

Three days.

Nobody comes.
Nobody except Mum and Dad.

I say, ‘Where’s Ed?’

Mum says, ‘He can’t come.
He won’t understand.’

Dad says, ‘You’ll see him when you get home, love.’

I say, ‘When can I go home?’

Three days.

That’s how long I have to stay.

Three days.

I’m in a room on my own.
It smells funny.
Like dinner.
It smells like dinner.
I don’t go out of the room, because when you go out of the room all you can hear are babies crying.
It’s like all the babies in the world are here.
In this hospital.
And they’re all crying.
Every single one of them.

I don’t know where my clothes are.
There’s a wardrobe but it’s empty.
I’m wearing a nightdress that’s not mine.
It’s too big for me.
I don’t know where it came from.
It’s not Mum’s either.
It would swim on her too.

I think about Ed.
And Minnie.

Ed will wonder where I am.
He cries when I’m not there.
He cries like a baby, even though he’s ten.
He’s too old for that kind of crying.

Minnie will say I’m lucky.
Because I don’t have to do the Inter.
Cert.
But I’d prefer to be doing the exams.
Maths.
I’d prefer to be doing the maths exam in the Inter., which is really saying something.
Everyone knows I’m thick at maths and I’d fail the exam if I did it.
I’d prefer that.
What’s the big deal anyway?
It just means you get to do Lower Level for your Leaving Cert.
and that’s fine by me.
Lower Level maths.
It’s no skin off my nose.

The nurse says, ‘Have you been to the toilet yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean, have you moved your bowels?’

My face is so hot, it’s scorching.
I shake my head.
The nurse draws the curtains around the bed, pulls a clean pair of gloves on.

She says, ‘This won’t hurt.’

She says, ‘You won’t feel a thing.’

She says, ‘Try to relax.’

She explains that it’s a laxative.
It’ll make my bowels move.
I nod and push my nightdress down over my knees when she’s done.
She snaps off the gloves.

I get under the sheet.
‘When can I go home?’

‘As soon as your bowels move.’

I sit on the toilet.
There’s a bath in here.
The nurse said I should take a bath.
At least once a day.
With lots of salt in it.
She leaves a box of salt beside my bed.
I don’t get in the bath.
There are stains along the bottom.
They’re brown, like rust.
Who’d sit in a rusty bath?

I say, ‘My bowels moved.’

The nurse looks at me.
‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’
It doesn’t feel so bad.
Lying.

‘So can I go home now?’

‘Just as soon as the doctor gives you the all-clear.’

I sit on the edge of the bed.
She says, ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to talk to someone?’

I shake my head.
‘Do you know when the doctor will come?’

She sighs, and rubs her eyes like she’s tired.
‘He’ll be here soon, pet.’
When she leaves, she doesn’t say goodbye.
She thinks I’ll be here when she gets back.

The doctor says, ‘You’re fine.’
I nod and smile, like I agree.

‘You’ll bleed for about six weeks.
Wear pads.
No tampons.’

I nod.
My bag is on the bed.
My toothbrush is in the bag.

‘So can I go home now?’

The doctor looks at me.
Nods.
He says, ‘After a while, it won’t hurt anymore.’