Lullaby Girl (21 page)

‘Bits.’

‘If he’s the one who hurt you,’ says Rhona. ‘I mean … There are people who can help us—’

‘No.’

‘People who can make him pay for wha—’

‘No.’

‘Anything, Kathy, it could be anything at all … If not his surname, then his nickname, or the colour of his hair, or—’

‘I don’t remember!’

‘Then tell me what you
do
remember!’ she rasps.

I swing round. We stare at each other.

‘Why are you protecting him? I know you know something!’

‘I’m not!’

‘Do you want me to show you the pictures again?! Because I’ll go and get the file right now! I’ll show you the state you were in when they dragged you—’

‘He loved me!’

‘Did he throw you out of a boat? Were you trying to escape? What happened? Kathy, you’ve got to
tell
me!’

‘Stop it!’ I scream, and drop to the floor.

Silence holds for what feels like minutes. I keep expecting the floorboards to creak under Rhona’s feet. But no. Nothing. When my heart has slowed, I look up and see her standing in the same place.

‘Rhona?’ I tremble.

She looks up, weary-eyed, and studies my face. Finally she says, ‘I just want to help you. You know that, right?’

I break eye contact. Rhona sighs.

‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’

‘It’s in the past. We can’t change it …’

‘Hmm,’ she says, and flops into a chair. She looks like she has more to say, but I’m glad she doesn’t.

#

I lie on my bed, watching the sun go down. As my session with Dr Harrison draws closer, it gets harder to hold myself together. At one point the sound of singing puzzles me. Then I remember this is music therapy day and that the voices I hear belong to the other patients.

Now that I’m alone, strange things are settling back into my mind. Maybe they’re part of the fear. I don’t know. They feel like memories, or the kind of memories you have inside dreams. A whole life story, condensed and ready to go. Lights, cameras, action! It takes all my concentration not to get dragged into them. I’m scared of what I’ll see if I let my guard down. They brush past my skin. Making me wriggle.

Magnus, is that you?

Is this real?

Did these things really happen?

The field is the clearest memory of all. Hiding in the dark from something dreadful. Magnus was not there that time. He fits in somehow, but not there.

At one point someone knocks. My stomach twinges. They’ve come to take me down. I wait. But nothing happens.

Fucking Joyce.

I hold my breath. Seconds later, a shadow moves under the door. The floorboard on the landing creaks. Then nothing.

Time drags. As the room gets darker, bad feelings lurk back. I close my eyes in a bid to shut them out, but it’s no good. In this silence, they are all around. Nodding. Conspiring.

Snow closes in, streaking lines across me as wide and as white as the sun. I watch through the gaps. Overlapping in my wake, marking the places I have been. Outside, gusts carry the flakes to places I can no longer reach, and with every howl and gasp I feel my dreams scatter further away. All the hopeless wishes. Wishing he had stayed the man he pretended to be. Wishing he had meant the words he said.

We huddle in our seats as the wind rocks the van. Around us, the stink of hotdog meat. Filter coffee. Sweat. The chill against my back and the hard, tall sleeve of his arm. Magnus glares forwards as he drives. Hands clamped round the wheel. This is not how the first day should have been. Why isn’t this romantic? It should have been romantic. I try to make him smile, and cannot. The cold becomes unbearable. I ask him to turn the heating up, but he mutters something about the thickness of my blood.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’

Magnus stays silent.

We pass another service station, and I persuade him to stop for fresh coffee. We troop inside and refill the travel mug. They have white-chocolate syrup here, which costs extra, but we tell the clerk we didn’t put any in and he believes us. We stand inside the doors to drink it, relishing the warmth of the floor against our feet. When we set off again, Magnus takes my hand, and my heart floods with relief.

‘I love you,’ I say loudly, and now his smile blooms back to greet me. Weak with relief, I allow Magnus to pull me close. He lowers his scarf, leans down to my height and kisses me. The gale gasps and tears at us. His lips are as cold as ice.

#

I swing into the headboard.
Clang!
goes my head. My hands fly out.

Wait … it’s the headboard … just the headboard …

I fumble around to make sure. Yes. It’s the bed.
Idiot
.

Rubbing my head, I lean forwards. The room is invisible. Every molecule of light gone. Someone has veiled the house like a birdcage, and now it is time to sleep. I can’t hear a single sound. For a moment I feel quite peaceful. Then I remember my session, and sit bolt upright.

What time is it?

I feel for the edge of the bed. Swing myself out. Three cold steps and I’m at the wall. Then, hand over hand over hand, I fumble for the light switch. The room flashes on, and I sneeze in the brightness.

Quarter past one.

What?

What about Dr Harrison?

I try the door knob.

Shit!

It’s locked again.

What the
hell
is going on?

I double check. Triple check.

Did Joyce do this to punish me? Would she really be such a bitch? But I didn’t
mean
to miss my session. I just fell asleep!

This is madness.

Why did no one wake me up?

18

Monday.

The dining room is packed when I go down for breakfast. Rhona and Joyce share a table by the kitchen. They look up as I walk in, and I’m pretty sure they see me, but they don’t come over to explain my missed session. Confused, I fill my plate. The bread seems tasteless today. At one point I notice Dr Harrison sitting amongst the staff. Am I going mad? Did I miss a day, somehow?

I sneak a second glance at Dr Harrison. She looks quite normal. Like nothing strange has happened at all. Maybe I
did
get the wrong day. I eat my toast quickly and leave the dining room before she has a chance to grab me. I really would have liked a cup of tea, but I daren’t hang around.

Outside, the weather is bad. I stay by my bedroom window, wrapped in a blanket, and worry about the upcoming session. What do I do? I haven’t the nerve to hide again. Water pours down the window, blurring my view of the moor.

At eleven o’clock I go to the Internet room, but Caroline’s not there so I sit on the shoe rack in the back porch and wait. After a while I hear a car. Caroline bursts through the door, laden with plastic bags, and jumps when she sees me. A pool of water forms around her as she takes off her wellington boots. She says she’s been buying wool in the village, for a weaving class this afternoon.

To my surprise, no one mentions Dr Harrison. Hours go by, but no one comes to take me to her, and no one comes to explain about yesterday. I don’t like this. It’s too weird. At six I pop my head in at the library, but Rhona’s nowhere to be seen. Caroline tries to talk me into weaving.

‘I’m supposed to see Dr Harrison,’ I tell her.

‘Not that I heard.’

‘But … when’s she going home?’

‘I dunno. Come on now and join us. Here’s a nice blue one!’ She pushes a ball of wool into my hand.

Half-heartedly, I sit down. Caroline hands round cardboard squares cut from cereal packets, and everyone takes one. Mine is Shreddies. As we start cutting slits in our cereal packets, I think I hear Rhona’s voice outside. Then a door slams and the voice cuts off. Caroline is glaring at me, as if warning me not to get up, and I know by now it’s a bad idea to pick a fight with her. When the class is over everyone filters into the day room. I slip off in search of Rhona, but her office is deserted. The rest of the house is empty too, without a staff member in sight. The only sound comes from the television in the day room. It looks like we’ll be allowed a film today, and though this is a rare treat I can’t muster any enthusiasm. Instead of joining the others I sit in the darkened dining room and strain my ears for signs of life. Bit by bit, the electric voices of the television replace real ones, and I’m almost asleep when people filter through for dinner. Unusually, there is no hot food. Just a big plate of cling-wrapped sandwiches and a bowl of custard creams. I go to Caroline and ask, ‘Where is everyone?’

‘What do you mean? We’re all here.’

‘Where’s Mrs Laird? And Rhona, and everyone else?’

‘Oh right,’ says Caroline as she puts a sandwich into her mouth. ‘They went to the pub.’

‘But they’ve never—’

‘It’s Susan’s birthday,’ says Caroline as she takes another bite.

‘Dr Harrison?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is that why we didn’t do my session?’

‘Must be.’

I nod. I suppose it makes sense.

Caroline takes her cling wrap and rolls it into a ball. I watch for a moment. Then I pull out a chair and sit beside her.

Caroline sighs. ‘What’s up? Not hungry?’

‘No.’

‘You should eat something. There won’t be any supper, you know.’

‘Will there be cake?’

‘What?’

‘Birthday cake.’

‘Oh … No, Susan is a little old for cake.’

I study Caroline as she eats a custard cream. She has such an unreadable face. Maybe that’s why they always leave her in charge.

‘Katherine,’ she snaps. ‘
Please
. Have a sandwich.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Look. There won’t be any food later. So if you come down whining that you’re hungry …’

‘But—’

‘
Kathy
,’ warns Caroline, an’ this time there is anger in her voice. Sighing, I get up. I go to the food, take the smallest sandwich and nibble at it, standing up. This seems to satisfy her. I walk past her table in silence. Then I go to my room.

It’s late when the cars return from the village. I hear them crunching up the track, followed by footsteps and slamming doors. No matter how hard I strain, I can’t hear voices. Even after they have come into the house.

#

Tuesday.

At breakfast, Rhona and Joyce are sitting together again. Rhona sees me and waves, so I get up and approach their table.

‘Hey you,’ she says. Joyce keeps eating, not looking at me.

‘Hi. I just wanted to ask … I mean … Dr Harrison—’

‘Oh yes,’ says Rhona. ‘There was a wee get-together last night, so we shifted round the schedule. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.’

‘But … wasn’t it supposed to be on … Sunday?’ I ask.

Joyce puts down her butter knife.

‘No … It was supposed to be yesterday,’ says Rhona. ‘Did you get it wrong, silly?’

‘Yeah …’

‘Silly billy,’ she says, and continues to smile.

‘Is there … I mean … Do I still have to … Is Dr Harrison—’

‘She’s still here,’ says Joyce. ‘Your session’s at seven o’ clock.’

I glare at her, irritated by her presence.

‘Run along, Kathy,’ says Joyce. ‘Get yourself some breakfast.’

I look at Rhona. She nods.

‘Why don’t you have some eggs?’ she says. ‘Put some flesh on those bones!’

‘All right,’ I say.

‘Run along then.’

Rhona and Joyce return to their breakfast. I put some eggs on my plate because Rhona asked me to, pour a glass of orange juice and carry these things to my table. Once or twice I look over and see them deep in conversation. I don’t like them being close like that. They never were before.

#

I’d wanted to take a walk with Rhona, but for the rest of the day she’s nowhere to be found. Her office door stays closed, and when I knock no one answers. The third time this happens I try to let myself in, but Caroline catches me an’ sends me packing. The fourth time I pass, I hear someone crying inside. I wait on the bottom of the stairs, looking down the blue corridor, but nothing happens for a very long time. In the end I get sick of waiting, so I go out alone and have a long walk down by the fence. It’s good to get out in the fresh air. For some reason the loch makes me think of Bonnie Prince Charlie. I imagine myself running towards it through the heather, dressed in tartan. The redcoats would be following with their guns, but I’d give them the slip through sheer cunning. My God, even the bracken looks like an oil painting today. It all looks like an oil painting. Maybe there’s something different with the light. Yes, that makes sense. I gaze at the loch and sigh. I wish I had someone to discuss this with. Once or twice I stand on my tiptoes an’ look at the house. But Rhona never appears.

Poor Dr Harrison, having to spend her birthday away from her family. Even at her age, that must be tough. If she’d gone home without seein’ me, I wouldn’t exactly have complained.

By the time I come inside, Rhona’s office is deserted. The clock says ten minutes to seven. Not long till Dr Harrison turns up. I flop down in the big swivel chair and scratch my nose.

I like this chair. Sometimes during our sessions Rhona lets me sit in it. We swap places and joke that she’s the patient. The back of the chair is very springy. I push myself round in it till I grow dizzy. Then I wheel it back to her desk and sit looking up at her noticeboard. At the top of it, like a trophy, is the keyring my fan dropped when he came over the fence. It gave me the creeps before, that thing. But later it just made me feel sorry for the guy. God knows how he got home without it. There’s a couple of door keys on the ring, an’ a car key an’ a black, circular fob.

On the desk is Rhona’s in-tray. We call it the mountain. Today it’s particularly tall. I don’t know how Rhona deals with all that paperwork. Sometimes she says she’d like to just burn it. A section near the top catches my eye. It’s a different sort of paper. Rougher, and not as white as the rest. I look at the door, but there’s no one there, so I slip to my feet and approach the mountain. The interesting section is folded, pressed flat beneath the globe paperweight. But already I have recognised it for what it is. I gasp and glance over my shoulder. A newspaper! I haven’t seen one since I found that old
Daily Post
. It makes me nervous to see another one. It’s forbidden to go through Rhona’s papers, and way more forbidden to read a
news
paper. But …