Blood Sisters(12)

Usually I have a solitary sandwich in the car when going from one class to another. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had dinner with friends. In fact, I don’t really have any. And that suits me fine. So I’m surprised to find that it’s actually rather nice to have some company over a meal that someone else has cooked for me. Angela, it turns out, has a retired husband at home and one son in Australia. Sandra got married last year and is ‘trying’ for a baby. They’re both remarkably open.

‘What about you?’

My mouth is half full as Angela speaks. It gives me time to compose a reply.

‘Happily single.’

The two women glance at each other.

‘I’ve not found the right man yet,’ I add. That’s true enough. I just don’t add that I’m not looking for one. Even so, a flash of Lead Man’s face pops into my head.

‘He’ll come along when you least expect him,’ says Sandra brightly. ‘I met my bloke here. One of the officers. When the guys know you’re available, you’ll get loads of offers. Trust me.’

‘Yeah,’ chuckles Angela. ‘But don’t go off with one of the prisoners, will you? We had someone from Education who did that last year. She got jailed.’

‘Really?’

‘At it like rabbits, they were. In your room, actually.’

I shiver. Another image to block out.

Luckily, the conversation moves on to something else and the afternoon goes much faster than the morning. Before I know it, I’m signing out, having remembered to collect my precious paints.

As soon as I get in the car, I check my mobile in the glove compartment.

Missed call from Mum. She’s left a message.

Hope your first day went all right. Please ring when you get this.



Her concern reminds me of my first day at ‘big’ school when she was waiting for me at home with hot buttered toast and a comforting hug. My sister had been finger painting at the time on the kitchen table and chose that moment to have one of her toddler tantrums by chucking the blue pot on the floor. I’d been furious with her back then but now I feel a sick twinge in my stomach for not being more understanding. After all, she’d only been little.

Block it out.

I punch in Mum’s number. It goes straight to answerphone. Good. It makes it easier to lie. ‘Everything was fine,’ I say brightly. ‘Honestly. In fact, I think I’m going to like it. Will ring when I get home.’

As I drive back to my flat, I feel as if I’ve just stepped off a spaceship. The people walking past seem weirdly normal. A father with a pushchair; an old woman with a too-heavy shopping bag; a leggy teenager texting; a middle-aged couple holding hands. So very different from the planet I’d been on today. It was like that period immediately after the accident when I couldn’t understand how everyone else could go on as if nothing had happened, when our lives had just caved in.

My heart flutters at the prospect of going in again tomorrow. But at the same time, I realize I’m almost excited. It’s like being on a scary high. I’ve hardly thought about my life outside all day. And it’s been a relief.

Yet, as I get out of the car and walk towards my front door, I have the distinct feeling I am being watched. Even though, when I turn swiftly, I can’t see anyone behind me.





6


November 2016


Kitty


It had been just over four weeks now since the man with the flabby face had gone and so far he hadn’t come back. Kitty knew it was four weeks because her bleeding had started again the other day. They all had to have their ‘monthlies’ ticked off on the chart. ‘This one’s as regular as clockwork,’ one of the carers had remarked chirpily.

Four weeks equalled one month. It was weird, the way her brain remembered some things although it couldn’t quite pin down others. Like what it was about the flabby-faced man that had upset her so much.

Margaret, her roommate, hadn’t had periods for years now. She was too old. Margaret had come here when she was a teenager. Respite care. Just for a week to give her parents a break. But they had never come back to collect her. So now a cousin paid the bills.

‘She … says … it’s … easier … than … having … me … to … live … with … her.’

Margaret prided herself on being one of the few residents who could speak out loud and clearly.

Pity she wouldn’t keep her mouth shut at night. Kitty could hardly sleep because of Margaret’s snoring. If only she could have a room of her own. But they all had to ‘double-up’ so that if one of them got into trouble and couldn’t press the alarm button, the other would.

At least, that was the official line. In practice, most were incapable of pushing anything.

‘They … just … say … that … to … save … money,’ Margaret had told her the other week when no one had been able to summon help after Dawn had slipped on a puddle of her own wee. ‘It’s … not a … safety … issue. It’s … cos … it’s cheaper … for the home … if two … people … can … share … a room.’

Meanwhile, Barbara with the straight blonde fringe was coming today! The girl who reminded Kitty of someone she couldn’t remember. She was going to bring her mouth organ – and Kitty was going to hum. Over the last few weeks, it had become their ‘thing’, as one of the carers called it.