The Girl Who Cried Wolf(10)

Evenings were exciting. Grandma and Grandad drank little bottles of beer while we watched game shows and Izzy and I would entertain ourselves by building fortresses with the empty bottles. Looking back now I suppose they did drink too much. It came to a head one weekend when Izzy was eight and I was twelve and we helped ourselves to the ‘special juice’ that Gran told us was only for her and Grandad. But it was bright orange and fruity and I couldn’t resist sneaking into the kitchen while they watched their shows and daring Izzy to try some. That was another great thing about having a sister; she was like the queen’s taster. Anything I wasn’t sure of, she tried it first. Izzy scooped a cup into the big glass bowl and took a little sip. She scrunched her cute face up.

‘It’s sort of sweet and funny tasting.’

‘Have some more!’ I egged her on, delighted that she was such a daredevil.

‘I don’t want to,’ she whined and pulled the face she made right before crying.

‘OK, baby face. I’ll try it.’ That seemed to cheer her up, and she scooped in to fill the cup up to the brim. I considered pretending to try it by spitting it back into the cup; she was so gullible I knew she would fall for it. But the truth was I wanted to try some. I had noticed every time adults drank, they got louder and sort of giggly. ‘Tipsy’, my gran would say.

‘Bottom’s up!’ I said, and drank the whole cup. I knew I was showing off but Izzy looked so impressed I asked for another. And another. At first I liked the feeling, I was a little light-headed and starting being very silly, making Izzy laugh. Then of course I started to feel unpleasantly dizzy, and eventually began to throw up. I can’t remember how many cups I had drunk when my grandparent’s came rushing in, but I remember the look on their faces was so frightening I began to shake and cry hysterically. Grandad scooped me up and the last memory I have of that evening is being bundled into the back of a car and my little sister’s frightened face at the dining room window, her lips mouthing my name.

I woke up in a hospital bed the next day, and my mother was beside me. Her eyes were red and she looked like she might start yelling, so I started to cry first and said sorry over and over. She held me in her arms and told me it wasn’t my fault. We didn’t stay at my grandparent’s house after that until we were much older. My father started to come home at weekends and Izzy and I got on with our lives as children do.

I sometimes wonder if that could be the reason my mum is so cold to Grandma. But my grandparents loved us so much, and surely everyone is allowed one mistake? They didn’t have alcohol around us again until very recently, so they had learned their lesson. I guessed that our mother was (as usual) looking for another reason to be judgmental and grim.

***

When I look out the window of my hospital room, I wonder how time can pass so quickly. It seems like only yesterday we were children, and Izzy would hold tightly on to my hand as we walked through the meadow to see the dapple grey pony Father had surprised us with one summer’s afternoon. I close my eyes, praying to be returned to those happier times, where neither of us had heard of this illness and our only troubles were making flowers stay in Starlight’s mane.





Chapter Four:


Love (In the Time of Chemo)


The following few days were a little rough. Mr Raj came to see me the day after my hysterical outburst, said I looked better and seemed like he meant it. He told me they would be reducing my medication steadily over the next few days and that I should be able to go home a week on Friday, but coming off such high doses of medicine would take a temporary toll on my already weakened body. He mentioned nausea, headaches and aching joints, but I assured him I would be fine – Anything to get me out of the hospital for a while.

It had been decided that I would stay with my grandparents while in respite from treatment. I was getting increasingly distant towards my mother, and every time something went wrong I found a way to blame her. This was hardly fair, but I was tired and emotional, and I wanted to be in my grandma’s cosy home with the big oak table, the wood burner, and those delicious smells enticing everyone to the kitchen. Even Lillian had to agree I would hardly regain my appetite over her offerings of microwave meals and endless rounds of toast with various toppings.

Izzy was more than a bit put out, but she had to be at school anyway, so she gave in on the condition that she could come up to visit every evening. So now I had to get through the next few days and I would be free again. Free from the drugs, the drip-stand that followed me everywhere, the probing staff, and the sleepless nights.

***

It was so much easier said than done. I spent the following day drifting in and out of consciousness, going from being hot and feverish to so cold that my bones themselves felt frozen. I finally found sleep in the early hours, but it was panicky, edgy, rather than restful.

I woke up to see a rather tall, incredibly bald man standing in front of me, not looking at all well. He looked old and frail but could not have been much more than twenty.

I couldn’t manage words. My mind felt like cotton wool and I couldn’t work out where I was or what was going on. I fought the urge to laugh at him. When I used to get stoned with a friend from our village it felt a lot like this. My thoughts were floating in front of me, but when I tried to grab them they slipped away.

I may have grunted at him.

‘I’m Michael.’ He was rearranging the contents of my bedside table. ‘I walked past and heard you knock these over. Just thought I’d check someone hadn’t hurt themselves.’