Blink Page 2

  Sometimes, it was hard to fight the feeling that, basically, life just sucked.

  3

  Present Day

  Queen’s Medical Centre

  I stare up at the blank, white ceiling, momentarily absorbed in how the cheap eggshell paint reflects the shards of light that arrow in from the window, turning them into lasers.

  It’s the same view 24/7, unless somebody or something decides to change it. Yesterday, a black fly crawled across the vast whiteness of the space above me. It stopped directly in my line of sight and proceeded to clean its front legs.

  The longer I stared, the closer it seemed to be, magnifying itself until I became convinced I could clearly see its iridescent, compound eyes and its sucking mouthparts.

  I was utterly revolted but completely unable to stop looking at the useless thing. Until I remembered that the fly could do more for itself than I can.

  There is no fly here today; it must have taken off. Flown to its freedom, bored of my hopelessness.

  I search my mind for clues of what happened to me. How I ended up here.

  Unlike my body, my memories are alive. I can feel them, hovering in the back of my mind, just waiting to be captured.

  It had been just an ordinary evening at home. I remember watching TV and walking into the kitchen to make a hot drink.

  I was probably thinking about the things I needed to do before I could go to bed. Stack the dishwasher, turn off the lamps, organise Evie’s clothes for the morning, when the kettle slipped from my hand.

  The boiling water splashed onto my arm and I screamed.

  Everything sounded so loud. The noise from the TV and the kettle clattering to the floor were like cymbals being repeatedly bashed, close to my ears.

  No sheet of blackness fell. There were no flashing lights nor vivid dreams. I didn’t float up to the ceiling and look back down on myself.

  There was simply a nothingness. A gaping void where I used to be.

  I woke up in here.

  I’d suffered a stroke, I heard them say as they scribbled on their clipboards. A bad one. Lots of things can happen to a body after a stroke, I’d seen lists on the ‘Raising Awareness’ posters at the doctors’ surgery. The doctors here knew a lot about what strokes could do.

  But there is something else, too, something they don’t know.

  Something else that happened to me, after the stroke. Something that trapped me inside myself like a bug in amber.

  A tube travels up my nose and down my throat. Feeds me. Another tube in my side takes away the waste.

  There are plenty of things I can do for myself, but only inside my head.

  Clock on the wall, I can’t move at all.

  I know I am still alive because I can still make up stupid rhymes, mainly about the clock. I can clearly remember Evie’s tinkling laughter, the soft contours of her face.

  That’s something the machine can’t do.

  The clock is just about the only thing that changes in here, and most of the time it’s the only blurred shape I can see.

  My heart is pumping harder, thumping faster. The machine isn’t doing that either; the thoughts in my head are making it happen.

  Because I’m alive.

  I’m alive.

  I.

  AM.

  ALIVE.

  I scream out the words again and again but the silence around me remains.

  4

  Three Years Earlier

  Toni

  ‘Your furniture’s arriving at one,’ Mum called from the other room. ‘You can start unpacking the boxes, if you like.’

  I didn’t like. I didn’t feel like unpacking boxes or doing anything remotely physical at all. I didn’t even feel like driving over and picking up Evie from the crummy council-run holiday club in our ten-year-old Fiat Punto. It had been desperate for a new exhaust for over a month but was still putt-putting out clouds of illegal emissions while I tried to find funds.

  But I had no choice in the matter.

  ‘I’ll go and pick Evie up now,’ I called to Mum, snatching up my car keys off the side. I didn’t wait for her reply. I suddenly felt like I had to get out of the house, just for a while.

  A radio outside, turned up far too loud, blasted crackling pop music out onto the street. I looked around to identify where it was coming from and saw the downstairs window of the house next door was propped open. The offending radio was perched on the sill.

  So, we were to have anti-social neighbours to boot. It just kept getting better.

  I averted my eyes and headed for the car which, in the absence of any driveway or garage, would have to continue to be parked on the road.

  I’d just belted up when a tap on the window gave me a scare. A thin woman with stringy, over-bleached hair and a missing front tooth grinned at me and raised her hand.

  I lowered the window slightly as the odour of stale cigarettes filled the car.

  ‘Hello, neighbour.’ She grinned, the gap in her front teeth like a magnet to my eyes, although I did make an effort not to stare. ‘I’m Sal. Me and my two lads live next door.’

  She nodded towards the blaring radio house. I lowered the window a little further.

  ‘Hello.’ I smiled, extending my hand awkwardly through the gap. ‘Me and my daughter, Evie, just moved in today. I’m just off to pick her up from playgroup.’

  Sal ignored my hand so I pulled it back inside.

  ‘Just you and the little ’un, is there? No bloke, like me? Better off without ’em, love, that’s what I reckon, what d’ya say?’ She spoke via a constant string of rhetorical questions.

  ‘Yep, just me and my daughter,’ I confirmed, choosing one to answer.

  ‘My two, Ste and Col, they’re all grown up now. I’m not one of those mothers that thinks the sun shines out their backsides, if you get my drift, Toni? They can both be swines at times and if you get any trouble from ’em, then I want you to let me know straight away, right?’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Oh, you know. Lads will be lads, yeah? Always up to their daft tricks and they’re noisy little boggers at times. Our Colin’s just spent a short time at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Spent his nineteenth birthday inside, he did. He’s a nuisance at times but I’m glad to have him back. They’ll always be our little babies no matter what though, eh, Toni?’

  ‘He’s been in prison?’ I tried to keep my face impassive but I felt the horror of her words settling over it like a fixed mask.

  ‘Course it woren’t his fault. Just a little misunderstanding with some youths out in town one night, you know? First sign of trouble round here and the coppers come looking for our Colin. They like having someone to blame, don’t they?’

  The realisation that I’d dragged my daughter from a respectable neighbourhood to live next to a convicted criminal made me sick to my stomach. I was sick of the stuff Sal was telling me and sick of the smell of smoke that hung around her like an odorous fog.

  ‘Well, I’d best be off,’ I muttered hastily before she embarked on another disturbing tale. ‘I don’t want to be late picking up Evie.’

  ‘OK, love, pop round for a cuppa and a chat once you’re settled in.’ Sal raised her hand by way of saying goodbye and walked away from the window.

  Quickly, I started the engine and pulled away from the kerb before Sal remembered some other worrying detail about one of her sons that she felt compelled to tell me about.

  Although Sal and I had zero in common, her invite to pop round for a chat had managed to shake up my memories a little, feel the weight of what life used to be.

  I valued my close relationship with Mum, I really did, but I suppose what I missed was having a really good, impartial friend to talk to. I missed the release of unburdening myself, perhaps over a glass of wine, to someone who wouldn’t judge me. Someone who understood.

  There was nobody like that left in my life. My best friend, Paula, had moved to Spain five years ago, and although we’d Skyped at first, contact had dwindled
to a Christmas card each year, in which we’d both write, without fail, ‘Must get together soon’, in the full knowledge it wouldn’t happen.

  Then there had been Tara. We used to meet up as a foursome for drinks and meals out when our husbands were home and get a film and a takeaway in when they were working away.

  Her husband, Rob Bowen, had been with Andrew on duty that day. He’d died instantly at the scene.

  Tara had been four months pregnant at the time of the accident and I heard she’d lost the baby. Our loss should have bonded us together, but instead it seemed to force us apart.

  I sent a condolence card in the midst of my own grief, but what good was that? I remember struggling with what to say to her, settling on ‘I’m so sorry’. It had felt woefully inadequate.

  Needless to say, I wouldn’t be ‘popping round’ next door any time soon. Sal was a nice enough woman but her use of bad language was terrible, and not something I wanted Evie overhearing. And although I believed everyone should be given another chance in life when they’d made a mistake, I didn’t like the sound of her older son, Colin, one bit.

  I drove up to the large roundabout at the top of Cinderhill Road and joined the queue of cars. There was a steady stream of slow-moving traffic pouring from the M1 into the city centre and I had to wait nearly a full minute before I could drive straight across and onto the Broxtowe Estate.

  I passed a large hotel on my left as I crawled around the roundabout. Giant posters announced a sprawling wedding fair that was taking place later in the month and a Take That tribute band that would be performing on the weekend closest to Halloween.

  Too late, I realised I was in the wrong lane and tried to manoeuvre the car into the nearside position. The vehicle behind emitted a continuous beep and I glanced in the mirror and raised my hand in apology, just in time to see the driver’s face morph into a mask of pure hatred while he mouthed insults at me.

  I had to fight a sudden urge to slam on the brakes, forcing him to smash into the back of me, just to inconvenience him. I didn’t know where these random maverick thoughts came from. Since Andrew’s death, they seemed to just drop into my head like they belonged to someone else.

  When I looked down at my hands I saw I was gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles had turned white.

  5

  Three Years Earlier

  Toni

  ‘They didn’t have ANY of the new Lego sets in there, Mummy,’ Evie complained as I led her from the crèche and out to the car.

  Her blonde curls bounced and shone in the weak rays of the September afternoon sun and her button nose wrinkled, making her look cute, rather than annoyed. The birthmark on her neck seemed illuminated, like a small strawberry. ‘AND they tried to make me drink milk. They said it was good for your bones. Is it good for your bones, Mummy?’

  Evie enjoyed milk on cereal but couldn’t stand it as a drink on its own.

  ‘It is good for your bones because it contains lots of calcium,’ I explained, as I steered the Punto back onto Cinderhill Road. ‘But you can get calcium from lots of other foods, like yogurt and cheese, so you don’t have to drink milk if you don’t like it.’

  Evie nodded solemnly. ‘I told them milk maked me poorly, and once, it maked me sick on next door’s cat. Then they let me have juice, instead.’

  I suppressed a snort. She really had been sick over our former neighbour’s rare Persian Blue. I don’t think they – or the cat – ever properly forgave us.

  Back at the house, Evie immediately headed over to her oversized box of Lego and emptied it out in the middle of the room. I sighed and shook my head.

  ‘Evie, I really don’t think this is the time to get—’

  ‘Toni, let her play, love,’ Mum overruled me, earning her a sweet smile from Evie. ‘We can work around her.’

  ‘Nanny, I need the toilet.’ Evie pursed her lips and frowned.

  ‘Come on then,’ Mum pandered. ‘Nanny will take you.’

  Evie was five years old, and perfectly capable of taking herself to the loo. But I swallowed down my irritation. They would only both ignore me if I tried to intervene.

  When they left the room, I sat down in one of the fold-up deckchairs we were making do with until the furniture arrived. I looked over at the boxes in the corner again but I didn’t make a move to unpack them.

  I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to all the good times we’d had in the old house, the place in which Andrew and I had poured all our future hopes and dreams, and which was now another family’s home.

  Not for the first time, I felt an overwhelming urge to run.

  Run away from Mum, away from the memory of Andrew and, today, even run away from Evie. Just for a short while.

  Regret corkscrewed into my chest. What fools Andrew and I had been, bounding ahead in life like hapless puppies, never thinking to watch out for the tripwire.

  I felt the familiar beginnings of a panic attack building inside with no way of assuaging it. I pulled my handbag towards me and peered inside, just to reassure myself everything was still in there, tucked out of sight.

  I kept trying to remind myself that I did have choices. Like, I could admit everything to Mum right now and put things right before it all got out of hand.

  Yet the thought of asking for help felt like a knot of eels stirring in my stomach.

  Deep down, I knew I couldn’t do it. Not yet.

  More importantly, it would feel like I was overreacting. It wasn’t as if things were totally out of control, I was simply relying on a temporary solution for a short time. A crutch.

  I knew what I was doing and I promised myself I wouldn’t let it slide too far.

  I forced myself over to the corner of the room and half-heartedly pulled open the torn cardboard flaps of the box nearest to me. I sighed when I saw the contents: memorabilia of life as it used to be.

  Family photographs taken on holiday, at Christmas, a celebratory meal out. A favourite painting of the three of us that Evie had done at nursery. Elaborate greetings cards: To Daddy, To My Loving Husband, To My Darling Wife.

  I hadn’t been able to leave all this stuff behind, despite knowing there was a chronic lack of space in the new house. Part of me still needed it, to look at. So I could remember who we used to be. It was a way to keep hold of the frayed edges of what used to be my life.

  I bit down hard on my tongue to bring me to my senses. I had to at least attempt to put an optimistic spin on things. This house signified a new start for me and for Evie, it was our new beginning. Like Mum said, I just had to give it all a chance to come right.

  ‘Stay positive and really try to believe it,’ I said out loud to myself. ‘Everything will work out for the best.’ But the words rattled empty and lost in the echoing space that surrounded me.

  When Mum and Evie came back downstairs, we sat drinking tea. Things felt calmer, more settled.

  Until there was a sharp rap on the door.

  Mum and I looked at each other in surprise but Evie didn’t even look up, so absorbed was she in assembling her coloured bricks.

  ‘Do you want me to get it?’ Mum said.

  ‘No, I’ll go.’ I hauled myself up and smoothed the escaped wisps of my hurriedly scraped-back pony tail.

  I could see right away there was no shadow cast by a caller standing at the opaque glass but I opened the door and prepared myself to smile at the delivery man or postman or whoever it might be that would appear.

  But there was nobody there.

  I looked down. A beautiful arrangement of lilies sat on the doorstep, one of those expensive, handtied bouquets where the water was self-contained in the big plastic bubble at the bottom. The whole thing was set in a glossy black bag, complete with carry handles.

  I stepped over the flowers and out onto the grass, looking up and down the street, but no one appeared to be around.

  I picked up the arrangement by the handles but it felt a little unstable, so I held it by the stylish black casing and carried
it back inside.

  ‘Look what I found on the doorstep,’ I said with a grin, walking into the lounge.

  ‘Ooh, pretty flowers.’ Evie jumped up. ‘Who sended them, Mummy?’

  ‘I don’t know who sent them yet.’ I smiled. I set the bouquet down on the floor. ‘Have a scout around in the flowers, Evie, see if you can find the little message envelope.’

  Mum raised her eyebrow. ‘Any idea who they’re from?’

  ‘Not a clue.’ I watched as Evie carefully parted the blooms, looking for the sender’s message. ‘Although I did send our new contact details out to my entire address book, so might be any one of them.’

  ‘Well, I can tell you now, that display won’t have been cheap,’ Mum remarked. ‘Those Stargazer lilies are—’

  Mum was cut short by Evie’s blood-freezing scream.

  ‘Evie, what is it?’ I jumped up and ran over to her.

  She began slapping her hands together and whimpering and I saw an insect fly up towards the ceiling. I glanced down at the flowers as a wasp emerged. Then another. And another – all heading for Evie’s pale, exposed arms and hands.

  ‘Wasps!’ I screamed, launching myself at my daughter and using my own arms to cover her head and body. ‘They’re in the bouquet!’

  Evie’s screams and Mum’s wailing masked the pain I could feel pinching at my arms and shoulders. I smashed my arm to the side to push away the flowers and the whole thing toppled over.

  ‘There’s a nest in there,’ Mum shrieked. ‘Get outside!’

  I picked Evie up and dived towards the front door. Mum followed right behind us and slammed the door shut. The three of us spilled out into the street, Evie still screaming and batting at her arms and face.

  Mum and I smacked the insects from each other’s limbs and I pulled another one from Evie’s scalp as it stung at my fingers.