‘Do I have to?’
Mrs Laird sighs. ‘She’s been travelling all day. We can’t very well send her away now, can we?’
I look down at my hands.
‘Okay,’ I mumble.
‘Good girl,’ says Mrs Laird.
#
The woman pauses in the doorway, but I sense this is merely through politeness. She is freckled and pretty, with tidy brown hair and a tweed overcoat. A bobbly wooden necklace flatters her perfectly sculpted collarbones, and her manicured hands clutch a tan leather satchel. She looks fit and confident and much older than me, though I know that if it’s really her, this isn’t true. Coral was one year my junior.
‘Coral?’
‘
My God
, Kathy. Is that really you?’
I nod.
A lovely smile breaks across the woman’s face, and then I know for sure. She runs across the room and squeezes me so hard that my spine cracks.
‘They told me you were here,’ she gasps. ‘I had to come.’
‘Who … told …’
She pushes her fringe out of her eyes and beams at me.
‘Your hair,’ I say. ‘It used to be red.’
‘Aye, well. You know. I dye it.’
‘It really
is
you,’ I wheeze. Then my emotions gain control and I have to take a moment.
Coral sits on the edge of the bed.
‘Do you … still live on … the farm?’ I ask, as I struggle to get my breath back.
‘No. Oh dear me, no … We moved to Edinburgh when I was nine. And I’ve been in France since my PhD.’
‘So what are you doing … up here?’
‘Oh, just a wee holiday. I’ve been showing my fiancé where I grew up. He’s from Paris, you know. This place is like the moon to him.’
‘But … how did you know … it was me …’
‘The people at Jack’s old croft! They said some woman phoned up, saying the Lullaby Girl might’ve used the holiday annex once. Then they said
Katherine
and I just—’
‘Oh … Yeah … They call me Lullaby—’
‘I know! They showed me your picture in the paper! I recognised you right off!’
‘The paper?’
‘You were in the newspaper. Didn’t you know?’
‘What did it say?’ I gulp.
‘That you’d been dragged out of the loch … for a second time. You’re really a celebrity round here, huh?’
‘Different loch,’ I mumble, but Coral doesn’t seem to take this in. Her smile fades away as she watches me.
‘What
happened
to you, Kathy?’ she asks. ‘How did you end up here?’
I laugh bitterly, and this makes me cough.
‘Well. That’s the big question … isn’t it?’
Coral presses her hands between her knees and looks at the floor.
‘What about your parents?’ she asks. ‘Don’t they know you’re here?’
‘I don’t know … They haven’t been able … to find them …’
‘Why don’t you just call them?’
‘I don’t know … the number.’
An awkward silence. Coral scratches her nose.
‘Coral?’ I ask.
‘Yes?’
‘What was my … mother like?’
She shoots me a glance before returning her eyes to her lap. ‘Ach, Kathy. I was just a bairn … She had dark hair, that’s all I remember.’
‘My father …’
At this, Coral’s jaw clenches. She swallows hard. Then, in a quieter voice, she replies, ‘He was dark-haired too.’
‘Do you know my … second name?’
‘Wow, you really are the
mystery girl
, aren’t you?’
‘Do you?’
Coral shakes her head. ‘I guess the McLennans would’ve had it in the visitors’ book. But hell, they were really old … I doubt they’d still be alive …’
I suck air into my lungs. Then I say, ‘Coral … About that last summer …’
Her head darts upwards, and with a little tremor, her eyes fill up. It takes several seconds for her to answer.
‘You mean … your dad?’
‘You remember?’
‘Heavens! The game? How could I ever—’
I catch hold of her arm. ‘We were kids,’ I wheeze. ‘It wasn’t … our fault.’
Coral brings her hand up to her mouth and shoots me a glance from behind her thumb. For a moment, she looks eight years old again. I find myself checking her face for scars.
‘How come you remember that,’ she says, ‘if you don’t remember the rest?’
‘I don’t know … I think I always remembered … But … hearing your voice now … I just … It just came … out.’
‘I never told my mum, you know,’ says Coral. ‘I said I hit my head in the barn.’
‘Why didn’t you … tell her?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe the same reason you didn’t stop him. I figured we’d deserved it. Like, two girls playing doctor and nurse isn’t exactly normal …’
I put my head in my hands. ‘I wanted to stop him … But he was so big … He was my dad …’
‘Well,’ she mumbles. ‘It’s in the past now.’
I look at her, and in my mind I see it all over again.
‘In the … corner … He shook you … so hard … There was so … much blood …’
Coral wipes her eyes. ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean for me to fall,’ she says.
‘Did it scar?’
‘Yeah. But it’s faded a lot.’ Coral lays a hand on her temple but does not lift the thick fringe of hair that covers it.
‘I should have … stopped him …’
‘It’s in the past.’
‘Did you … hate me?’
Coral snorts. ‘Do you really think I’d have come here if I hated you?’
Suddenly I feel extremely tired. Hugging my knees to my chest, I pull the bedcovers round my shoulders. I think I am going to cry and hate to think Coral might see this. For a moment the room wafts away from me.
‘You must really … think I’m … a freak,’ I whisper.
‘You’ve had a bad time of things. That’s all …’
Outside, the wind screams.
‘How … old … are you?’ I ask.
Coral doesn’t answer straight away. I feel her turn around but can’t see her face from here.
‘Are you serious?’
I try to nod my head.
‘Twenty-six.’
‘Oh …’
‘Why?’
‘I’m older … than you … aren’t I?’
‘I don’t know. I think so. Maybe …’
I sigh. The first tear rolls down my face now, and I’m glad Coral cannot see it.
‘Funny how … things go,’ I gasp. ‘Huh?’
‘Aye,’ sighs Coral. ‘Aye. It sure is …’
#
Mrs Laird is overjoyed by Coral’s visit and says it’s the first stepping stone to recovering my past. On Monday she’ll drive north to the McLennans’ croft, and after that it’s only a matter of time before they track down my family. No one has asked my permission to do this. They’re all so excited. Gambolling from clue to clue like children on an Easter egg hunt. And the grand prize is that they get to get rid of me.
Several hours after Coral’s departure, I hear another car. I go to the window and see Mrs Laird ushering Dr Harrison to the house. Their arms are stacked with paper files. Dr Harrison glances at my window. Then they pass behind the clematis and out of sight.
At nine o’clock Caroline brings my pills.
‘Is Dr Harrison here?’ I ask, but she just says, ‘Get some sleep.’
‘I thought I saw … Dr Harrison …’
‘Oh?’
I can tell I won’t get any straight answers tonight, but this does not put me in a bad mood. Dr Harrison is here, and unlike the others she might actually listen to me.
‘Did you brush your teeth?’ asks Caroline when I have swallowed all the pills.
I shake my head.
‘Come on then, best do it quick!’
She hovers behind me as I stand at the sink. These pills act quickly. Suddenly it gets hard to push my toothbrush around my mouth. By the time I’m done, the room has turned psychedelic. I think I hear my voice talking, or crying. I’m not quite sure how I get back to bed.
#
When I stir, I am still clutching my toothbrush. Shocked by this alien presence, I jerk backwards and the brush tumbles away. With fuzzy dismay, I hear it skid into the dust. My right palm stings. I touch it with my other hand and find a wavy pattern etched there.
My face hurts, like I’ve spent hours hanging upside down. For a long time I lie here, opening and closing my eyes. My brain is full of blood, and too heavy to lift from the pillow.
I recognise this. It’s a drug hangover. But I’m puzzled, because I don’t think I took more than my usual dose. Wait. No. I didn’t eat much yesterday. That explains it …
The clouds move peacefully. Steadily. It’s no wonder people imagine heaven as being in the clouds. I wouldn’t mind hanging around up there all day.
There’s a picture in my head today of a tiny, messy room bathed in sunlight. I’m there, sitting on a wooden floor, and somehow I know I’ve been there lots of times before. There’s a blond man next to me, and he is not Magnus. Dried paint stuck in patches up his forearm, blended on his hand, spattered in his hair. He turns to me, clutching a brush and looks like he’s telling a joke. His eyes are wild, but I feel safe. Narrow, twisting stairs, with crates of records on each step. Laughing like drains, we carry a pizza up to the light. Turpentine. Rags. Canvas. That face … I know it. A name tickles my brain, too vague to touch … Ka … ? Sa … ? Ti … ?
Somebody knocks. I stiffen.
‘Kathy! My hands are full. Can you open the door?’
Whose voice is that? If I pretend I’m asleep, will they go away?
‘Kathy!’ repeats the voice.
Is that Mrs Laird? Caroline?
A bump, followed by a clatter. Someone swears under their breath. Then the handle squeaks and the door flies open. If I’d been more alert I’d have pretended to be asleep, but in my present condition I am too slow. Dr Harrison stands in the doorway, beaming.
‘Well, good
morning
!’ she clucks. She stumbles towards the bed, carrying a massive two-handled tray. The crockery rattles boisterously. My eyes widen.
‘Morning. Afternoon. What’s the difference?’ winks Dr Harrison as she sets the tray on the nightstand. ‘There! A nice breakfast. Get the day off to a good start. I made you a smoothie with my own fair hands. Chock-full of vitamins! And there’s toast, and jam, and honey from my local—’
‘I don’t … usually … eat …’
‘Everyone needs a good breakfast,’ she says as she shakes out a napkin. ‘Come on, sit up! Your egg’s getting cold.’
What is this obsession they have with eggs?
I think as I push myself upright. Dr Harrison tucks a napkin into my collar.
‘I heard you took a tumble into the loch. Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall we have a nice chat later?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Good. Well, tuck in and we’ll get started in an hour.’
Dr Harrison glides to the door. I look at the tray, which is packed with enough food to feed an elephant.
#
Caroline arrives to dress me. This is the first time I have worn day clothes since the accident, so it is also the first time I have had to endure this.
‘I
can
do this myself,’ I say.
‘Of course you can,’ mutters Caroline, without looking at me, and this makes me flinch, because her tone of voice turns the phrase into
Of course you can’t
.
‘Why do I still have to take … all these bloody …
pills
?’ I ask, with effort. My bottom lip feels absolutely massive. I can feel the blood pumping through it.
‘You know why,’ says Caroline as she pulls my socks on.
‘No, I don’t … Why don’t … you … tell me?’
‘Don’t be difficult, Kathy. Not today.’
I glare at Caroline. She starts putting my arms into my cardigan. I detest being this weak. It wasn’t so noticeable when I spent all my days in bed. But my God, this is awful … Caroline fastens my top button and starts fiddling with my hair. I scowl and swoon under the force of her hands. When she’s finished she thumbs something off my cheek and stands back.
‘Pretty as a picture. Ready to go?’
I glare at her. Without waiting for an answer, Caroline puts my arm round her neck. She heaves, and we topple to the right. My feet feel like they’re cut from paper. Caroline grunts to a stop. Tries again. Staggers to the left.
Jesus!
Caroline seems as amazed as me. She hauls me further over her shoulder, and I dangle there like a Santa sack. I want to ask what the fuck they’ve drugged me with, but my mouth won’t even form the words. Cold flushes trickle down my neck, and my eyes flutter shut against the light. Caroline takes another step, swears and lays me back onto the bed. I stare at her, aghast. The light moves fast around her head, making her look like a huge, pouncing animal.
‘Okay,’ she pants. ‘Okay … Let me think …’
‘Don’t … hurt … me.’
‘I’m not gonna
hurt
you!’
The light bulb cuts the air into patterns. My vision shivers.
‘I don’t … feel …’
Caroline lays the back of her hand on my forehead.
‘Huh. You’re very cold.’
I swallow and close my eyes against the light. My heart is fluttering in my throat. I can’t control it.
‘Kathy? Kathy!’
What did you give her?
I didn’t give her anything!
What did you do?
Nothing! She just …
She’s already had forty milligrams!
I didn’t …
Hey … hey … look … look!
Kathy!
Katherine!
I fall into a cluster of white. Faces. Talking. Mouths. I gasp, cough, and my eyes go wide. Then the mouths hit full volume and I am plastered back onto my pillow. I am in my best clothes. Skin saturated. Stinking of sweat. Someone fighting with my buttons.
‘What?’
‘Katherine! Thank God!’
Mrs Laird.
‘What’s … going on?’
Mrs Laird drags my arms out of my cardigan. I flop from the sleeves, hot and patchy. Ice-cold, hot, cold … I lie here and try to breathe. Someone is fanning my face. But it’s no good now. It just makes me cold. I start to tremble. I don’t understand. Voices are jabbing.
It’s okay … I think it’s okay … I think it’s just shock …
Shock from what?
I don’t know. Delayed shock … from the loch …
Don’t be absurd! It’s been a week!
You didn’t give her more than the usual dose?