Lullaby Girl (11 page)

Another rumble fills the sky, an’ my heart leaps. But straight away there’s an absolutely gigantic crash. The room explodes with golden light. I jump off the bed.

‘Holy
shit
!’ I splutter.

Screams shake the house. I run to the window, but everythin’s dark again. I can smell smoke. The screams grow wilder. Breathin’ quickly, I run to my door an’ fling it open. The hall lights have gone out, but I see shapes out there. Shona an’ Mrs Bell are closest. Down on their knees, clingin’ to the carpet. Mrs Bell is screechin’ the Lord’s Prayer.

‘What’s happened?!’ I shout, but no one replies. Mrs Bell keeps screamin’. Then I hear feet runnin’ upstairs an’ Joyce’s voice shouts, ‘Ladies! Ladies! It’s okay!’

Blue rectangles mark the open doorways, an’ as I’m lookin’ at ’em I notice one door’s still closed. Mary! I barge in without knockin’ an’ stand pantin’ in the dark. For a minute I don’t see her there, under the window. She looks like she’s cryin’, an’ the sight of that almost sets me off. I swing her round, an’ her wet face flashes in the light. Then I see she’s
laughin
’. Iss creepy to see her laughin’ without really laughin’. Jus’ a tiny, cute wheezin’ noise.

‘Are you hurt?!’ I ask, but Mary looks through me. Grippin’ her shoulders, I stick my head through the window. Outside, the garden is a mess of black an’ white bits. Lightnin’ flashes an’ the bits glitter merrily. Then I see the gap. The ash tree on its side, on top of the conservat’ry. When I breathe in, the air is smoky. Mary laughs an’ laughs an’ laughs. I cradle her in my arms, an’ wait, an’ smile.

9

Saturday.

Today’s music therapy is cancelled. Instead, some men come to check the storm damage. There’s a hole in the dinin’-room wall, an’ they spend most of the day tacking blue plastic sheets to it. The weather is wet an’ blustery. Sometimes the wind blows the plastic away or fills the house with glass dust, an’ when that happens the men shout a lot. No one was hurt last night, but we’re all quite shaken up. They say we won’t have the power back till tomorrow night, so we have to jus’ make the best of things. Joyce walks up an’ down, shoutin’ orders at the men. Talkin’ on her mobile telephone. The house is freezin’, so we wear our anoraks all day. There’s jam on bread for breakfast, an’ cold beans on bread for lunch, an’ cheese sandwiches for tea. I spend most of the day playin’ snakes an’ ladders with Mary, but now an’ again I go downstairs to look at the hole in the wall.

Iss hard to describe how lost I feel now the ash tree’s gone. It almost feels like a person has died. The conservat’ry too. How will I manage now? That was the only room I could see Skye from, since they stopped me goin’ outside. I’m ashamed to admit it, but the view from Mary’s window is a big reason why I’m spendin’ so much time with her.

#

Sunday.

Today the weather’s calmer an’ the clouds are low. When I come downstairs I find a lady with beautiful hair at the back door. She waves when she sees me, calls me by my first name an’ explains through the letterbox that she
comes bearing gifts
. There’s no key in the lock, so I have to wake up Mrs Laird to let her in.

The lady turns out to be from the church in the next village, an’ she’s driven up to bring us a thermos of tea. Iss round an’ silver, like the boiler in the upstairs cupboard, an’ iss got a little tap at the bottom. We gather in the library, which is the warmest room, an’ share out the tea. There’s sandwiches too, an’ pink wafer biscuits, but the hot tea is the best thing of all. At first the church lady talks about Jesus. Then she starts askin’ me about the thunderstorm. I tell her it wasn’t really scary, an’ she asks me what kind of stuff I
do
find scary. Then she asks about my mum an’ dad. But iss nasty how she’s starin’ at me, all close, an’ lis’nin’, an’ I don’t want to talk about those things. My face goes red an’ I shrink back towards the others. ‘I think clowns are scary,’ says Jess, but the lady jus’ laughs an’ keeps starin’ at me.

Soon the food has all gone. The lady takes the Tupperware to her car an’ comes back with a big blue parcel that she tries to give to me. Iss wrapped in fancy paper, with a big bow on top, an’ a card. But Joyce dives between us, shoutin’, an’ grabs the present from my hands.

‘You crafty swine!’ shrieks Joyce. ‘I just knew it!’

Shocked, I step back. Caroline comes runnin’ an’ the two of ’em march the lady to her car. The church lady says terrible words an’ looks back over her shoulder, but by now Mrs Laird is leadin’ me away. I see Caroline stuff the parcel through the car window. Then the front door closes an’ Mrs Laird takes me to a room on the other side of the house. When Joyce comes inside she stuffs a handful of black tape into the bin. Her face is tight with rage, but I’m too scared to ask why.

#

Monday.

I feel hemmed in today, like I can’t breathe, an’ though I’m scared of gettin’ caught, I go to the back door. The key is in the lock, so I turn it quickly an’ sneak out for some air. If I’m only a minute, Joyce will never know. But iss someone else I bump into. A fat red man, covered with sweat. There’s a chainsaw in his hands an’ bits of wood everywhere. The ash tree! My whole body shakes, an’ I have to run inside.

Later they load the butchered remains onto a pickup truck an’ drive her away. Prob’ly to the village, for firewood. This is the last time I’ll see her. My good old friend. For weeks now, she’s been the most stable part of my life. Never throwin’ surprises at me, never makin’ an unexpected move. I knew exactly what to expect from her, an’ when. Like me, she thought she’d stand out there forever. Swayin’ in the wind, never breakin’. But fate had diff’rent plans. With her gone, the world feels chaotic.

#

Tuesday.

The electricity is back an’ the house is warm again. Ev’ryone sleeps in extra late, an’ most of us miss breakfast. For lunch we have a big pot of potato stew, an’ iss the best thing I remember eatin’ in a long time. For the time bein’, we’ll be eatin’ meals in the day room. We’re allowed to use the dinin’ room again, but no one wants to cos the blue plastic wall makes it so cold. There’s glass dust over everythin’, which keeps comin’ back no matter how much iss cleaned off. I don’t much fancy gettin’ glass in my food. Mrs Laird says that that can kill you.

#

Wednesday.

I wake with a bad feelin’ in my stomach an’ can’t get back to sleep. Have I been dreamin’ again? I try to remember, but the details drain away as I try to catch them, leavin’ nothin’ behind but ripples.

A face flits in the corner of my eye. Somehow I know iss the face of a real person. Watchin’ me, always, all this time. I turn over, draggin’ my cold sheets with me, an’ a terrible thought comes into my head: that I will never, ever be able to escape. That even when I can’t see it, the face will keep seein’ me.

My scalp is moist. I stroke it with tremblin’ fingers, till the hair tangles. My eyelids flutter as my heartbeat rises. Bones soft an’ cold, in a soup of sweat. The face looks on, an’ analyses me, an’ seems amused. It raises its fist an’ I cower. Iss a man’s face. Thick an’ ugly, an’ full of the threat of violence. Black hair strangles down. Darkness turns to red. Suddenly my mouth is singin’.

Solen er så rød, mor

og skoven bli’r så sort

Nu er solen død, mor

og dagen gået—

No!

A cold surge, an’ I rush towards the light. Fast, the veil lifts. A sudden distortion. Then my nose is pricklin’ hard an’ I’m squashed against the floorboards. Tears leave my eyes. But iss okay. The song has stopped. I crawl to the corner an’ stuff myself into it. Cold waves rush through me. I am full of sharp edges. The face has gone away, but the fear will not.

#

When I wake I find Joyce at the end of my bed. She snores on the floor, inside a royal-blue sleepin’ bag. There are three empty mugs beside her, an’ a copy of
Christian Weekly
. Her hair is frizzy.

I look at the square of light behind the window. Iss hard to tell, but it looks like it might be a nice day. I look back at Joyce. She hasn’t moved. I feel heavy.

It feels like the window is open, though the curtains are too still for this to be true. I think about gettin’ up but find I can’t move. Instead, I move my eyes to the ceilin’ an’ count the half-moons in the cornice. I keep losin’ count somewhere around sixteen. Joyce turns over at one point, but doesn’t wake up. I want to look at the clock, but iss extremely hard to turn my head. By the time I start countin’ again, the room is brighter. Birdsong echoes down the chimney – starlings, I think – an’ iss so loud it sounds like the room is full of ’em. I crane forwards an’ see Joyce has gone.

#

Today. Slow, wanted, wanted so badly.get out. of bed. My face. tight an’ bloated. Like cryin’ a. lots. a cryin’ a. ah. ugh. Spend time. Lookin’. at hands. back. of
my
hands. an’ think. they look. wrong. Remember hand. Diff’rent hand. Face raisin’. a hand. spoon of hot. Spoon. to mouth. My mouth. an’ the sleeve. Lace. an’ tiny cup. Sweeties. in they go an’. an’ an’ after I.
can’t
move my. mouth. Wasn’t
my
hand. see? Not
stupid
. know that now. How could it be? How could it … That’s why that’s why that’s. I
know
it. the cornice. an’ an’ the seam. in wallpaper. Up. above headboard. I see it. seam. crack. seam an’. sound. voices. somewhere. quiet. think they were. think came tryin’. feed me. sweeties, but then. When I see. Foil. the foil.
Pop
. blisters.
Pop! Popple
. An’ I. know. pills … I glide through. long. dull expanse. brown. gentle stream. The voices. the whispers. An’ the room. goes away.

#

Iss warm, an’ soft. Wind throwin’ gravel at my window. I know that. Like the nights.
Smash trickle, smash trickle
. A hand snared in gold an’ opal. Rings. Bangle. Magazine. Smell coffee. That magazine moves, fraction. Does not reveal face. But she’s on other side. I try to say
Joyce
, but. my mouth … body feels. wrong.

try again. arch my neck. suck in. Then,

‘Joyce …’

Magazine moves. Joyce’s face.

I was right.

‘Go to sleep, lassie,’ says bitch Joyce. But her voice. like mine. Unnatural.

Want to reply. But. all breath used. Hands chatter. Feel my … I … Watch her face the … The mole … jowl … The twist of …
mouth
. coffee smell strong. Saliva. My bottom lip i.waterfall. Stop … Can’t move arm. Can’t nt’n’tt wipe. blooms. Warm into into pillow. Quick cold. Then … cold cheek. Joyce. Fades.

Hand comes back. scratchy tissue. wipes my lip hard. Close my eyes. wish she had not done that. Things swing back. I’m
here
. I can hear
ev’rythin
’.

‘Shush now,’ says her voice.

Upupupblistering lights! swarms, see it. coming, no, from somewhere. out. around. sinuses. hurts. can’t. Stop! Can’t … stop! Catch … it … stopGasp, an’

whooshesdowndown down downdowndowndowndowndowndownaround. inhale. I am … movin’ backwards … faster than. I … oh. jelly.lights.an’. an’.ican’t … keep. up …

#

I realise my voice is talkin’, an’ I jerk my eyes open. Joyce sits beside me, wearin’ diff’rent clothes. Her eyes stretch when she sees me lookin’ back, but she finishes her sentence.

‘—did it make you feel when he did this?’

I look round, then back at Joyce. I think she’s askin’ a question. I look round again.

‘What?’

The room is much cooler than before. I’m not in my bed, or even my bedroom. This is a room I haven’t seen before. I jump. The woman is not Joyce.

‘Aaaaaah …’ I say, startin’ to panic. Somethin’ below me rips, an’ then I see a wide blue sheet on the bed. Like toilet paper, but too big. Hands appear on me, an’ a sharp pain stabs my arm. Faces appear, smoosh to one side an’ droop into shapes. A smile tingles on my face as all the world turns soft. Voices overlappin’ from somewhere in the sky. The air is not real. I breathe chiffon. Blue paper cracks as my weight drags down. Slow earthquake, comin’ apart in bits. Soon the gap will swallow me. Ears rumble. Voice has stopped talkin’.

#

Joyce drives me back from the clinic in Inverness.
An emergency
she says.
Only for your own good
she says. But I know the truth. They’ve been dyin’ to hypnotise me again an’ this was the perfect excuse. Joyce seems pleased. She says we’ve made progress. I barely speak back to her.

Mist hugs the road, forcin’ us to drive slowly. Every so often, headlights blunder out of the greyness, an’ we reverse to the closest passing place. Joyce keeps her eyes on the road. Rust-coloured trees flash past. Yawnin’ ravines an’ sullen, stationary sheep. They appear an’ they leave. A cloudy slideshow. The world starts to feel as unreal as one of my dreams. This is a place that never sees the sun.

#

We pass a sign that reads
Milk Bar
. Joyce stops beside a tall hedge an’ reverses back to the sign. She drags the map from the glovebox an’ studies it, peekin’ once in the rear-view mirror. Then she pushes back into first gear. We creep through a hole in the hedge an’ up a narrow track. Gravel purrs under the wheels. Wet rhododendrons stroke the windows.

‘Are we stoppin’?’ I ask. I picture a tall, cold glass of milk.

‘Mm,’ says Joyce, hunchin’ over the steerin’ wheel. Then the car bucks, an’ we swing to the left. Joyce swears under her breath. Then it happens.

Through the undergrowth I spy a wooden house. Painted white. Log pillars. Pointed roof. A plungin’ sensation drags my chest down, an’ all at once I am fallin’. Somewhere down there my knees are movin’. My lungs heave an’ catch hold of nothin’. Door handle in my fingers. Ev’rythin’ turns cold. I flounder head first into branches. Shriekin’. I lurch. Run. Fall. Roll into a dark, swampy place. The house is still there, behind my shoulder, an’ I can’t get far enough away. The weight in my chest is too strong. There’s mud under my nails. In my mouth. In my collar. Damp creeps through my clothes, I swoon into blackness, an’ when the stingin’ in my palms hauls me back I find myself clingin’ to the ground. I vomit, an’ water comes up. Behind me, Joyce is shoutin’. The car squeals, whirrs an’ crunches. A mechanical grunt, then the gravel patters in a diff’rent way.