Closer (11 page)

I'm standing there and I don't know what to do and I pull my hand down really quick with my arm straight and I push the knife into my own stomach.

Dad's borrowed a car, he says it's quicker than an ambulance, and it's really new and I wonder about the blood messing up the seat but I don't care. He's driving like a madman. 

I've got this white towel folded on my stomach and I look down to see if it's soaked with blood but there's only a bit. I wonder where it's all going. Maybe I'm bleeding internally. Maybe my liver and my kidneys and everything else down there is bleeding. Maybe my womb and all that. I wonder how long it will take, how much blood you have to lose to die. 

We go in the A&E at the hospital and Dad tells me to sit down while he talks to the receptionist. When I sit down I feel really faint. I always wondered what that felt like. 

Next thing, I'm lying on a bed with curtains pulled round it and there's a nurse looking at my stomach. She holds my hand for a second. 

“What have you been doing to yourself?” I can't work out if she's kind or angry. I've so messed up here. 

I don't say anything. There's nothing to say. I'm wondering when I'm going to die and if anyone will care. 

“Don't worry, it's not very deep. I'll just clean it up, then we'll put some tape over it and you'll be fine.” 

Fine? I'll never be fine. How can I live with this? 

I couldn't kill him. 

I couldn't even kill myself. 

This is so embarrassing. 

I'm never coming back to this hospital, never.

There's a note from Raj when I get home. Dad leaves me on the corner, like I want him to. I don't want anyone to know what's happened. I've just got a little plaster on my stomach, nobody needs to see. The nurse wanted to get rid of us as soon as she could. There were more deserving cases, people bleeding to death on the chairs in the waiting room, an old lady lying on a trolley in the corridor looking a bit like Granma did, only she's groaning a bit. That seems like years ago, Granma dying. 

Raj has been to my house. The note's in an envelope with my name on it. Mum looks curious about it, but she just hands it to me and doesn't ask. 

I take it up to my room. 

Dear Mel. 

His writing is small and neat, like he's practiced it lots of times. 

I've tried phoning you, but I don't know what to say. I know you wanted us to finish, but I want to see you – I'm worried about you, and even if it's just friends I'm here for you. Please get in touch with me, however you like. 

Love 

Raj. 

I look at that word, love. I'm not sure what it means. I don't know what it means in a note like this, and there's so many kinds of love, and love that isn't really love at all, and it's a huge mess. 

I fold up the note very small and put it in my pocket. It's good to know it's there, and he's touched it, and thought enough of me to write it. There's a bit of me that wants him back in my life, if only I could get through what's here already.

“I'm taking George to school, then Hannah to the doctor's, then we're going into town for a bit,” says Mum, poking her head through my door and waking me up. 

I grunt. 

“Remember, Sabina's coming over at nine.” 

I put my head under the pillow and try to go back to sleep. She just reminded me. I thought for a moment when I woke up that everything was back to normal. But nothing's normal. 

The doorbell rings just as I'm drifting back to sleep and I realise it's Sabina. She's on time. I groan and stagger out of bed, blinking to clear away the fog in front of my eyes. I pull a jacket on over my pyjamas, and go down to let her in. 

She's standing on the doorstep swinging her bag. She must be a morning person. I hate morning people. 

“Sorry, did I get you up?” 

“No, I was - yes. You got me up. I was just going back to sleep.” I yawn without putting my hand over my mouth. She must have seen the contents of my stomach but she doesn't back off. 

“Don't you hate mornings? I do. I never want to get up, ever,” she says, laughing. 

I narrow my eyes and look at her straight. 

“Come in anyway.” 

I take her in the kitchen and put the kettle on. She asks me where Mum is, and George and Hannah. 

“So it's just you and me, great. I'd like to tell you what's going to happen next about your dad and everything, then I thought we might go out for a bit. If you're up for it.” 

I've got my back to her making the tea, and I slop the milk over and have to fetch a cloth to wipe it up. I'm taking my time to work out what to say. I haven't left the house since the hospital, and right now I want to leave, I want to get out of here quick. 

“Can you tell me on the way, what's going to happen?” 

“Wow, that was fast. Haven't you been out for a while?” 

It's worrying how she can read my mind. Or she's been here before, with some other sad family. 

“Not since - I'll go up and put some clothes on.” 

“You do that and I'll drink my tea. Thanks.” 

Sabina takes the tea. I go upstairs and get dressed fast, as if there's something I do want to do. Not that I'm fooled, she's a social worker remember. She could take me and Hannah away, and George. I'm not so sure about so-friendly Sabina social worker. 

By the time I get downstairs again she's drunk her tea and she's looking through some papers. 

“Ready? Don't know where you want to go. The only thing I know about you is that you like art. Fancy going down the museum on New Walk?” 

Usually I wouldn't be seen dead in a museum. But I like the one on New Walk, we used to go there and see the dinosaur and the mummies. I've never been to see the art, that's upstairs. 

“We could leave the car on Vicky Park and walk down.” 

“Okay.” 

“Don't you want some breakfast?” 

This woman is seriously bossy. 

“Don't do breakfast.” 

“No, I know. Can't stand anything to eat before eleven myself. We can get something in the coffee shop.” 

She gets up and gathers her stuff and looks at me. 

“You okay with this? Sure? You've had a tough time.” 

I shrug my shoulders. I want to say ‘nothing I can't handle', like I did to Sally Griffin last week, but the words won't come out. I leave it with the shrug. 

“Let's go then.” 

Her car's some little two-door job, newish, with that hot plastic smell. We get in, and she heads for Vicky Park and we find a space and start going across the park towards New Walk. 

“So, I was going to tell you what's going to happen. Your stepdad's not been round, has he?” 

“No, Dad's staying away.” 

“This next few days I'm going to be seeing you and your mum, and Hannah and George. I need to get to know you all a bit, so I can write a report.” 

“So you can take us away.” 

“Not necessarily. Do you want to leave? Look, there's a bench, can we sit and talk about this? It might be easier.” 

We sit on the bench. A leftover takeaway is on the grass at one end. A couple of pigeons come down and give it a try. Not sure if they'll like curry, but the chips seem to go down well. 

“I don't want to leave. I want things back as they were. Without Dad doing anything.” 

“Yeah. But that can't happen. Not yet. If it ever happens. We have to sort things out.” 

I don't like the sound of that. 

“What does that mean?” 

“There'll be a case conference. Everyone will be there, your mum, me, somebody from school.” 

“School have to know?” 

“Yes, they do. Is there anybody there you've talked to?” 

“Haven't talked to anyone. Can't be doing with that. Sally Griffin asked me, last week, but I didn't say anything.” 

“Maybe she could be involved. Would you mind if I talked to her? She's one of the teachers who's involved in child protection.” 

I mind, but I like her asking. Child Protection, that's what this is. I need to think about that. 

“Who else will be there?” 

“A solicitor from the local authority, somebody to write everything down, and a chair.” 

“A what?” 

“Chairperson. They used to be called chairmen.” 

This is some strange world I'm getting into and I don't like it. 

“We'll talk through all the options, and we'll all decide what's going to be best.” 

“What about me? What about what I think's best? Don't suppose that matters.” 

“Mel, it matters a lot. That's why I want to talk to you, get to know you. This is all about what you and Hannah and George want.” 

“Doesn't feel like it.” 

“You can write to the case conference. You can tell them how you feel and what you want, and I'll read out the letter for you.” 

“I told you, I want everything to be normal again. And I want to see Raj, and Chloe.” 

“Is Raj your boyfriend? Does he know about this?” 

He doesn't know and I'm never going to tell him. How could I tell him? 

“No.” 

“No he isn't your boyfriend or no he doesn't know?” Sabina squints at me in the sun and I look away. 

“I'm finishing with him.” 

I didn't know that till I said it but it's true. There's no way I can go on seeing Raj with all this. It's ruined everything. 

“Oh. Shame.” 

“Can we go now?” 

“Course. Let's walk.” 

We spend the rest of the morning wandering round the museum. I find a painting by Francis Bacon. It's in oils, all thick yellows and browns and black. It's of a man in a chair. He's all twisted up and he looks like his life fell apart, like his guts are pouring out of his stomach. Like what I wanted to do to Dad, and myself. And failed. I have to look at that picture for ages, till Sabina comes and says she'll buy me a drink in the café. I don't talk much after that, and she doesn't seem to mind. I have a Diet Coke. 

When she drops me back at the house, I don't want to go in. I realise I've felt okay for a while. Sabina seems to understand. She doesn't talk down to me or anything. 

“Remember about that letter. Think about writing something. I'll be back on Wednesday.” 

“Yeah.” I turn away, and then before she goes I look round. 

“Thanks,” I say, “for the drink and everything.” 

She smiles. 

“You're welcome. I've enjoyed it. You're really interesting, you know. See you Wednesday.” 

I watch her car till it turns the corner.

August 1st. The day before Mum's birthday. I've been hanging out in nowhere for two weeks. Sabina's come and gone. She's spent hours with Mum in the kitchen drinking coffee. I've even heard them laughing sometimes from up here, and I've heard Mum crying too. Don't know what she's got to cry about, it didn't happen to her. 

Sabina only talked to me once, but she's seen Hannah a couple of times. When she gets here she asks me how I am and I know she means well. How can I say I'm curled up in this ball inside wanting everything to be different? Not wanting to be here? 

How would I like my life to be different? I think about wanting a different family, a different past, different school, but when it comes down to it, it's me. I want to be different. 

Dad had all these plans for tomorrow, for Mum's birthday. He told me about them, when he met me after school before everything fell apart. He was going to take her breakfast in bed, then out somewhere for the day, then he was going to cook for her in the evening, goat's cheese salad for a starter, then sea bass with roast new potatoes and veg and strawberries and cream to finish. I think that was it. He was planning to set up the table on the decking in the garden, with lights strung round the place, and George and Hannah and I were going to be there for the first bit then we were going to disappear so they could be all stupid without us laughing at them. It's all gone down the toilet now. 

I've seen Dad twice since I ended up stabbing myself. Mum was there all the time looking nervous, and he said he was sorry again. He looks thin and tired, and he must hate sleeping in Andy and Jill's spare room. He said they were giving him a hard time, and I was glad, glad. 

So tomorrow's off. Or is it? 

I go down to Hannah's. She's having a clear-out. The teddies are off the shelf and in a box on the floor. We're all growing up fast. She looks up at me and strangely, she looks better. Her eyes are more open somehow. 

“Getting ready to leave?” I know she is, but I have to make a start somewhere. We're still awkward with each other. 

“Suppose. Something to do.” 

“I've got an idea. It's Mum's birthday tomorrow.” 

“Some birthday.” 

“Yeah. That's what I was thinking. We could do something.” 

“Do something?” 

I'm getting irritated. She is so slow. 

“Like Dad would have. He was planning it all.” 

“He talked to you?” There's still that fighting for him between us. 

“Ages ago. He had a menu sorted and everything. We could do it. George too.” 

I realise Hannah's got a place like mine inside her. She's curled up in there, waiting for it to be safe to come out. 

“Let's do it, Han. We could do the shopping while Mum's at school.” 

“But she'd find it in the fridge.”