Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2) (16 page)

I cringed back into the pillow and braced myself for a
shrill and dramatic ‘Scarlett!’ shriek, but it never came. Instead, the
newcomer tiptapped over to me without a word. I took in her luscious red hair
pulled back into a ponytail, her freckled face devoid of foundation, her simple
white shirt and jeans – jeans?! – in shock. Who was this young, pretty woman?

‘Darling,’ said my mother softly, ‘what a day you’ve had.’
She pressed lipstick-free lips to my forehead.

My mother, here. Of course I’d been planning to see her.
Soon.
Before…
But I’d been putting it off. Because every time I pictured
her, I saw a woman lying in bed alone, day after day; I saw a woman sobbing
over her firstborn’s coffin, her empty coffin; I saw a woman lying on a stretcher
near-dead from the drugs she took to numb pain she just couldn’t bear. I’d been
trying to work out a way to protect her. Her standing beside my hospital bed
was very, very far from protecting her.

As I stared at my mother and Dr Morris shaking hands
(vigorously, on my mother’s part) all I could think was:
How has a simple
trip to the zoo gone so horribly, horribly wrong?

‘Hello. I’m Elizabeth, Scarlett’s mum. How is she?’

‘Er…’

‘I’m fine, Mother,’ I said quickly. ‘It was just a….’ What
excuse was it Sienna had used? That was it: ‘It was a blood sugar thing. All
sorted now.’

‘She’ll be all right?’ Mother asked Dr Morris.

He looked at me, and I shook my head discreetly. I was
eighteen, an adult, and so doctor–patient confidentiality dictated that he had
no right to tell my mother anything unless I okayed it. But I saw his
confusion: why wouldn’t I let my own mother in?

‘Doctor?’

‘Your daughter is very strong,’ he said at last, smiling
wanly.

It wasn’t an answer to the question, I noted, but a diversion,
avoiding the need to lie. Before Mother could seek clarification, he gathered
up his files and swept across the room, calling behind him, ‘I’ll get those
discharge papers sorted, Scarlett,’ and then he was gone.

‘Well,’ said Mother, settling herself comfortably into the
chair by the bed, ‘he must be happy enough that you’re all right if he’s
discharging you. What happened, darling? Luke, on the phone – it was hard to
follow.’

‘
Luke
rang you?’

She nodded.

That was how much I’d scared him: he knew I would hate to
upset my mother, or let her see me vulnerable.

‘I wasn’t far away – up at the Harmony Centre for a
follow-up with my counsellor. I drove straight down.’

‘You didn’t need to come. I got a bit dizzy, that’s all.’ I
tried to wave a hand dismissively, but stupidly picked the one with the cannula
in and yelped at the sudden pain.

‘Careful,’ said my mother. Then: ‘Why were you dizzy?’

‘I can’t remember the name for it. Nothing serious. Just a
blood sugar drop. The doctor’s giving me tablets to sort it.’

‘Blood sugar. Have you been eating properly?’ 

‘Yes.’ But that wouldn’t explain the problem, so reluctantly
I added, ‘Most of the time.’

My mother rolled her eyes. ‘Do I need to send you weekly
food parcels? I thought you were all grown up – that’s what you tell me.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘You weren’t trying to lose weight, were you?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Because life’s far too short to spend it eating fruit
salad while everyone else around you tucks into gateaux and cheesecakes.’

I stared at my mother, who to my memory had
never
eaten anything decadent. ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘You’re officially freaking me
out.’

‘I am?’

‘What’s going on with you? You’re acting odd. This kind of
thing – usually you’d totally hit the roof.’

‘I would have, wouldn’t I? Horrendous. But this isn’t about
me, Scarlett, it’s about you. I’m here for
you
. And you’ve told me
you’re all right, so there’s no need for a song and dance.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it. As I’ve been telling you on the phone, I’ve come
a long way. I feel like myself again. How I used to be, before... well, it’s
been years. I’m like a girl again – like I was at your age. I can’t tell you
how good that feels.’

She smiled at me. My mother, my always fragile, always
volatile mother, was standing in the trauma room of an accident and emergency
department beside a bed on which lay her only living daughter, recently brought
in by ambulance and the cause of quite a furore,
and smiling
. It was
hard to believe.

‘Mother –’

‘Oh
please
stop calling me that, Scarlett.’

‘But I’ve always called you that.’

‘I know. And I hate it. It was Hugo that started all that –
Mother and Father. I’d much rather be your mum, Scarlett.’

She was so earnest, so eager; it was agony. Wasn’t that all
I’d ever wanted as a child, a mum, a proper mum?

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll try to remember.’

She leaned in and gave me a long hug. I closed my eyes and
breathed in the scent of her: a mix of the familiar, Chanel No. 5, and
something new, a sort of earthiness.

‘Come home with me?’ she asked when she let me go. ‘I can
look after you.’

‘I don’t need looking after.’

‘Okay. But come visit then. Soon?’

I nodded. And then seized on the easiest distraction to
hand: ‘So what’s with the image change?’

‘Not a change, actually, a reversion. I didn’t always wear
prim little suits, you know. This is comfier.’

I pointed at her feet. ‘Those are comfy?’

She looked down at her six-inch stilettos, then threw her
head back and laughed. ‘No. Not in the slightest! But they’re me. I feel naked
without them.’

Behind her, I saw a door edge open and a head peek around.
Jude, his eyebrow crooked questioningly –
Can we talk?

‘Another one?’ I muttered. ‘It’s worse than Piccadilly
Circus in here.’

My mother glanced at the door. ‘Oh, I thought it would be
Luke. He was outside with his sister when I arrived, getting some air. Is that
a friend of yours, Scarlett?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, it’s one visitor per bed. I’ll pop out for a bit,
shall I?’

‘Will you check on Luke?’

‘Of course.’

As she stood up I beckoned Jude in. He loped over with easy
grace, and came to stand on the other side of the bed from my mother.

‘I’m Elizabeth, Scarlett’s mum,’ she said, holding out her
hand. I was bemused by my mother’s newfound desire to shake any new person’s
hand, but Jude, cool as ever, took the gesture in his stride and put his hand
in hers.

‘I’m Jude, Scarlett’s friend,’ he returned.

But my mother wasn’t listening. And she wasn’t pumping his
hand up and down as she’d done with Dr Morris. She was holding Jude’s hand
quite still, eyes fixed on the Latin word tattooed along his inner arm.

‘Serviam,’
she read.

‘It means “I will serve”,’ I explained.

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘It’s... quite beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jude.

It was beyond awkward that she still wasn’t moving, so I
said, ‘You were checking on Luke?’

She dropped Jude’s hand then, quickly, and said to me, ‘Yes,
Luke. Your boyfriend. I like that boy, Scarlett. He’s good for you.’

Then, without so much as a ‘Nice to meet you’ for Jude, she
turned on her heel and clipclopped out of the doors.

‘How do you feel?’ said Jude at once.

‘Better.’

‘You look better.’

‘You were there? You saw it happen?’

‘No, I was here – working – when they brought you in.’

‘Oh.’

‘Why the surprise?’

‘I just assumed you were watching me.’ When he frowned I
added, ‘I know that you do it. I feel you near me often.’

He cast a look at the far end of the room. All of the
medical staff were engrossed in conversation. Still, he dropped his voice
before replying, ‘I feel like we’re into guardian angel territory again. I
don’t
follow you about watching you, Scarlett – that would be an invasion of privacy.
I text you, I call you, I see you on the waves when we surf. That’s been enough
for me to tell that you’re holding your own. Until today.’

Until today.

‘Was I close, Jude? Did I nearly...?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Do you really think I’d have given
you your space these past weeks if I wasn’t sure you had time still? You’re not
dying today, Scarlett. Or tomorrow, or the next day.’

‘Good. Good!’

For the first time since I’d woken up in this room I felt a
glimmer of hope. I’d get out of here, smooth things over with Luke and Cara,
and get back on course. The nearby town of Tavistock was holding its legendary
Goose Fair next weekend...

Jude’s hand tapping mine pulled me away from a vision of
Luke and me on the big wheel, kisses sugary and sticky with candy-floss, back
to a room where the sweetest treat on offer was IV dextrose.

‘Scarlett, I saw Luke when they brought you in. He was
really,
really
upset.’

Fear, sudden and cold, made me snatch my hand away. Luke –
where was he? He’d gone for coffee ages ago. He’d promised he’d be back soon.

‘He knows I’m keeping something from him,’ I said. ‘He
thinks – God, I don’t know what he thinks. Earlier, before the doctor came...
Jude, he asked whether there was something going on with you and me!’

‘Well,’ said Jude, ‘you can hardly blame the guy.’

‘Why? Why would he think that?’

‘Because you said my name.’

‘What?’

‘When you collapsed. I heard him tell Cara: the last words
you said were, “Jude. I need Jude.”’

I stared at him in horror. ‘But I didn’t mean it like that!’

‘Obviously, but how’s he to know?’

‘What can I say to him? How can I fix it?’

‘I’m not sure you can.’

He stood silently, watching me struggle for a response.
Usually, he was so compassionate, so gentle with me, but now he was sterner,
harder.

‘There must be something – some logical explanation for why
I’d say that.’

‘Another lie, you mean? This isn’t fair on him.’

‘I know! Don’t you think I know that? He shouldn’t be here –
he shouldn’t have seen this today.’

‘He’ll see it again.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I
know
. Don’t say any more, please
– I know it all.’

The tears that came softened him. He reached out a hand, but
it froze just over mine – I’d pulled away from his touch last time. Instead, he
began pulling tissues from a dispenser on the wall.

‘It won’t always hurt so much, Scarlett,’ he said.

That was the first time it should have occurred to me that
Jude, too, could lie.

It was dark by the time I got home. Luke took the keys out
of my bag and let me into the cottage and helped me pull off my wellies on the
doormat, then he padded from room to room downstairs, turning on all the
lights. Their soft yellow glow was a relief after the stark brilliance of the
hospital, as was the quiet. Since I’d come round that afternoon, it seemed all
I’d done was talk – to Cara, to the doctor, to my mother, to Jude. But not to
Luke. Not properly.

Now, Mother – Mum – had driven back to Hollythwaite, with my
assurance that I’d visit her soon; Cara was back at her house, still in a huff
with me, still suspicious; and Jude – well, Jude was wherever he went when he
wasn’t with me. Leaving Luke and me alone. I didn’t know whether to be relieved
or anxious.

‘You should eat,’ said Luke. ‘I’ll make you something.’

‘Can I shower first?’ I said. ‘I need to shower.’

‘Okay.’

He followed me upstairs and turned on the water as I
stripped off clothes that were crusted with mud. He didn’t watch me undress; he
busied himself wrestling the shower curtain into position. Self-conscious, I
grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. He didn’t comment on it when he
turned to me. He just told me he’d meet me in the kitchen when I was ready, and
then left me. Alone, but for the girl in the mirror whose eyes I couldn’t quite
meet.

I crammed my soiled clothes into the small pedal bin and got
into the tub. A bottle of body wash stood open on the side of the bath, where
I’d left it that morning. Then, I’d lathered it up until I was high on
ylang-ylang, singing loudly all the while. Only a few hours ago – it seemed so
much longer. I put the lid on the bottle and picked up the soap instead and
began carefully cleaning away the traces of the day. When I’d washed from top
to toe, though, it wasn’t enough. There was an undertone beneath the tang of
lavender that was intolerable. I picked up a washcloth and started over,
rubbing harder, faster. But it didn’t matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t
get it off me – that smell, metallic and cloying. Blood. And then, when my skin
was pink and raw and still I needed to keep scrubbing, it was no longer just a
scent; I could
see
it on me, running down me in rivulets, thick and
impossibly red.

I was bleeding. I was bleeding out.

I was dying

right now

right here in the bath tub

and Luke would find me

it would be him who found me

and it wasn’t right

not Luke

not like this –

‘Scarlett!’

‘I’m sorry,’ I sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt
you.’

‘It’s okay, you’re all right.’

‘I’m not all right, I’m dying, oh God I’m dying –’

‘No –’

‘I’m dying, and I don’t want to, I don’t want to die –’

‘Listen,
listen to me
. You’re not dying, you’re not.
You’re home. You’re safe. I’m here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I
will never let anything bad happen to you. Just breathe. Breathe. Breathe.’

I did that. I breathed.

‘Open your eyes. Look at me.’

I did that too. His eyes were so blue. Had they always been
so blue?

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘You’re okay now. Just breathe.’

The room came into focus. I wasn’t in the tub; I was on the
floor, on the bathmat. Luke was kneeling in front of me, hands gripping my
arms. I looked down: I was wrapped in a towel, a clean towel. No bloodstains.
No blood on my bare arms and legs. No blood anywhere.

‘It wasn’t real,’ I said.

‘No. You had a panic attack, I think. But you’re okay now.’

‘There was so much blood. I saw it.’

‘You saw blood?’

Something in his tone shook me from my shock.

‘Not my blood,’ I said straightaway. ‘At the hospital,
before I was discharged, they brought in a man. There was so much blood.... I’ve
never seen so much blood.’

‘Oh, Scarlett.’ He crushed me to him fiercely and it was the
first time he’d held me, really held me, since the zoo, and it was bliss, and
it was torture.

In his arms, all I could think of was the woman in the
doorway to the trauma room, sobbing as she watched alarms go off and medics
shout and the bleeding man just lie there, unmoving.

Please,
she’d begged.
Please, love. Please.
Please.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Luke. ‘I’m sorry you had to go through
that. Go through everything today.’

‘No,’ I told him. ‘You have it backwards. It’s me who must
be sorry.’

*

Downstairs, we sat side by side on the sofa in the living
room. At my request Luke had turned every light and lamp on and set the old gas
fire to maximum output, but still the room seemed dim to me and cold. At least
the tea and toast Luke had made were warming.

‘I had to make the toast on the grill,’ he said. ‘Because
your toaster looks like it’s sustained a nuclear blast.’

‘Yes, it, er, exploded a little.’

‘And I had to boil the water for tea on the stove. Because
the kettle isn’t working.’

‘Yes, it’s the wiring, I think.’

I knew, in fact. It had given me a fairly nasty shock the
other day.

Beside me, Luke sighed heavily. ‘You’re not taking care of
yourself properly, Scarlett. Your kitchen’s barely functional, and it’s just
about empty of food. Is that why you collapsed today?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I told you – it was just a blood sugar thing.
I forget the name. But it’s not serious.’

‘And the medicine the doctor gave you – it’ll sort the
problem?’

I thought of the paper bag shoved in my handbag and nodded.
‘Yes, it will.’

‘So it won’t happen again?’

‘No.’

Not with you.

‘Thank God,’ breathed Luke. ‘I never want to go through
that
again. You were like a ragdoll in my arms. And that tiger was terrifying.’

‘The tiger?’

‘It went ballistic when you collapsed. Roaring, ripping at
the wire, throwing itself towards you. It was pandemonium: kids screaming,
zookeepers running about. There was no calming it, even when I carried you
away. It was awful – frightening. All of it.’

I reached for him, saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ but he
jerked back.

‘You keep saying that,’ he said. ‘What is there to be sorry
for?’

I knew what he meant; dread was written all over him. I said
quickly, ‘Nothing with Jude. He’s a friend, nothing more.’

He searched my eyes, and I silently begged him to see the
truth there, because there was nothing more I could say to him on the subject
that wouldn’t be a lie.

‘Okay,’ he said at last. I waited for him to ask me why
Jude’s words had been on my lips as I lost consciousness, but instead he said,
‘I love you.’

‘I love you too! So much.’

I wanted so badly to touch him, hold him, but he stood up.

‘I’m staying tonight,’ he told me. ‘I’m not leaving you
alone.’

I should send him home, I knew. But I could no more bear to
push him away after today than I could bear to climb the stairs to a cold,
empty bed and lie awake for the long, dark night alone with my thoughts. I
nodded.

‘You rest here. I’ll go and turn the heater on in your bedroom,
take the edge off.’

‘Okay.’

I watched him go, the only guy I’d ever loved and, I was
sure, would ever love; this guy who deserved only good in his life, only
honesty and love and light. I waited until I could hear his footfalls in the
room above, then I slipped quickly off the sofa and crossed the room to the
armchair under the window, where he’d left my handbag. I felt inside for the
paper bag and drew out four boxes of pills that the doctor had given me and,
from the very bottom, a vial and a syringe that the doctor had not
given
me, exactly.

It was when I was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully
dressed and impatiently awaiting the nurse to bring my discharge papers, that
Dr Morris had come for his final visit. He drew the curtains around my bay and
sat down beside me. After a half-hearted attempt to get me to come back for an
outpatient consultation with him, he’d handed over the boxes of pills and
instructed me on when to take them and how, and where to go with the repeat
prescriptions he’d written for me. Then he’d said:

‘You don’t want a hospice, you say. So you’ve thought about
it, then. The end. Scarlett, what your sister did – I understand that. She
wanted the choice, the control. She didn’t want to suffer. And yet drowning,
suffocation: I’m sorry to say it to you, but I worry that she
did
suffer. I don’t want you to suffer like that.’

I opened my mouth to tell him that he had it wrong – I
wasn’t like Sienna; I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, kill myself. But the words got
stuck in my throat, because Dr Morris had reached into his pocket and drawn out
a syringe and a vial.

‘Of course,’ he said, ‘there is nothing I can do for you,
other than admit you, when the time comes, and offer palliative care. Nothing
at all.’

He twisted the vial so that its label was facing me.
MORPHINE
,
it read.
Caution: For dilution only. Not for direct injection.
Laying
the syringe and vial on the bed beside me, he said, ‘Do you understand?’

I nodded.

He stood up. ‘Goodbye, Scarlett,’ he said. ‘And God bless.’
And then he left me alone in the curtained-off area – alone with the means to
secure as peaceful and pain-free a passing as was possible.

I stared at the little vial. So innocuous looking, and yet
within it lay all the power of the ocean to steal the breath from the body. I
should have thrown it away. I’d told Jude I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, take my life.
I’d believed that, on the beach in Newquay. I’d believed it with an unswerving
faith. But then, I’d always imagined suicide as so violent, so wrenching. Not
this. Not a quiet surrender.

The creak of footsteps moving across the room overhead
reminded me of the urgency of time. Quickly, I reached down and lifted the seat
cushion of the armchair and slid the syringe and vial underneath. Then I
returned the pill boxes to the bag.

Luke found me sitting on the sofa, finishing my tea.

‘You ready?’ he said from the doorway.

‘Yes.’

I stood up but then hovered awkwardly by the sofa. He looked
so grave still, and the last time I’d tried to touch him he hadn’t let me. From
my pocket I drew out the little plastic bag the nurse had given me, and slid
out the necklace. ‘Will you put this back on me?’ I whispered.

For a moment he didn’t move, and my heart thudded painfully
in my chest. But then he walked over to me and took the necklace and came
behind me to fasten it. His fingers on the nape of my neck were warm and
gentle, but they made me shiver. Hands on my arms, he turned me to face him. He
didn’t smile; he just searched my eyes. When they began to tear up, he leaned
in and pressed his lips to my eyelids, to close them.

‘I love you, Scarlett,’ he whispered.

Then he kissed me, deeply, reverently. Like it was our first
kiss all over again, or our last.