she was lean and toned like me when she was younger. Her skin is different from mine. It almost hangs from her in places. Mine is firm, welded to the flesh and bone underneath, one smooth, strong machine. Her body is starting to show its different parts. The droop of her breasts. The sagging skin at her elbows. I’ve never noticed them before, those whispers of physical mortality. I think I’ve become slightly obsessed by death over the past two days. I guess that’s to be expected.
My bedroom looks a little odd to me now. In it for the first time, once I’d fled the calorie conversation, I stared at the window – firmly shut – and out at the tree and rope ladder beyond. There was a lot of snow. I wouldn’t have wanted to scramble down there in this weather, strong body or not.
I sat on my bed, idly flicking through The Crucible , and wondered how long it would take. (She’s nothing if not predictable, my mother. But then, most people are.) As it turned out, about twenty minutes. I had my bag ready and my shoes on when she knocked on the door to suggest we go shopping. ‘I could treat you to something nice?’ she said, like that would sort out my near-death. ‘A new coat, maybe, for this terrible weather?’
I’m not short of coats as my walk-in wardrobe will attest, but you can never have too many clothes. I smiled at her. I could have a worse mother in many ways, that’s for sure.
*
I wore a hat with my hair tucked in, just in case anyone recognised me – it’s not like I’m a celebrity or something, but there were reporters and photographers outside the hospital this morning and I bet I look shit in their pictures. They want me to do a photo and piece with Jamie McMahon. Maybe I will. I can’t decide if I want to speak to him or not. I turned him away at the hospital, but perhaps it could be interesting. I feel like I know him already. Maybe I should see him. I’ll think about it later. It’s not urgent.
We cruised around the shops, which were quiet in the foul midweek weather, and after an hour or so – however long it took to buy three tops, a skirt, a coat and a pair of skinny jeans – I mentioned that I’d like to get Hayley and Jennifer presents of friendship bracelets or something, so they’d know how much it mattered to me that they were there. I looked down at my snowy boots and tried not to blush. I didn’t want to sound needy or too grateful they were at my bedside. ‘It was strange being in hospital,’ I explained. ‘It made me realise how fragile everything is.’ It’s true. The idea that I was nearly dead – for-good dead , not just thirteen-minutes dead – still makes me tremble.
‘Then let’s do that,’ my mother said, smiling. ‘But make it a celebration of your friendships rather than a fear of loss.’
Sometimes she’s overly sentimental, but maybe she had a point. I smiled, too. I had to, really. I needed her credit card to pay for everything.
‘What about Rebecca?’ she asked, almost tentatively, after we’d picked out the delicate charm bracelets, each with a silver heart attached that read Forever Friends . Maybe they’re a bit childish – okay, a lot childish – but they’re certainly not tacky. Not at the price tag they came with.
I had to think for a moment. Becca. Of course. Not a bracelet, though. That would be ridiculous, given everything, but I did have another idea.
*
When we got home, there was a phone call from the drably serious police inspector, Bennett, checking that everything was all right and I was home safely. She told my parents that they weren’t taking the investigation any further at the moment but to call her immediately should I remember anything. She said it all to my father, as if I was from some far-off distant land and didn’t speak English – or, worse than that, as if I was five years old.
I mean, what if my dad was the one who pushed me in the river? What if that , Mrs Clever Police Inspector? I can hardly
My bedroom looks a little odd to me now. In it for the first time, once I’d fled the calorie conversation, I stared at the window – firmly shut – and out at the tree and rope ladder beyond. There was a lot of snow. I wouldn’t have wanted to scramble down there in this weather, strong body or not.
I sat on my bed, idly flicking through The Crucible , and wondered how long it would take. (She’s nothing if not predictable, my mother. But then, most people are.) As it turned out, about twenty minutes. I had my bag ready and my shoes on when she knocked on the door to suggest we go shopping. ‘I could treat you to something nice?’ she said, like that would sort out my near-death. ‘A new coat, maybe, for this terrible weather?’
I’m not short of coats as my walk-in wardrobe will attest, but you can never have too many clothes. I smiled at her. I could have a worse mother in many ways, that’s for sure.
*
I wore a hat with my hair tucked in, just in case anyone recognised me – it’s not like I’m a celebrity or something, but there were reporters and photographers outside the hospital this morning and I bet I look shit in their pictures. They want me to do a photo and piece with Jamie McMahon. Maybe I will. I can’t decide if I want to speak to him or not. I turned him away at the hospital, but perhaps it could be interesting. I feel like I know him already. Maybe I should see him. I’ll think about it later. It’s not urgent.
We cruised around the shops, which were quiet in the foul midweek weather, and after an hour or so – however long it took to buy three tops, a skirt, a coat and a pair of skinny jeans – I mentioned that I’d like to get Hayley and Jennifer presents of friendship bracelets or something, so they’d know how much it mattered to me that they were there. I looked down at my snowy boots and tried not to blush. I didn’t want to sound needy or too grateful they were at my bedside. ‘It was strange being in hospital,’ I explained. ‘It made me realise how fragile everything is.’ It’s true. The idea that I was nearly dead – for-good dead , not just thirteen-minutes dead – still makes me tremble.
‘Then let’s do that,’ my mother said, smiling. ‘But make it a celebration of your friendships rather than a fear of loss.’
Sometimes she’s overly sentimental, but maybe she had a point. I smiled, too. I had to, really. I needed her credit card to pay for everything.
‘What about Rebecca?’ she asked, almost tentatively, after we’d picked out the delicate charm bracelets, each with a silver heart attached that read Forever Friends . Maybe they’re a bit childish – okay, a lot childish – but they’re certainly not tacky. Not at the price tag they came with.
I had to think for a moment. Becca. Of course. Not a bracelet, though. That would be ridiculous, given everything, but I did have another idea.
*
When we got home, there was a phone call from the drably serious police inspector, Bennett, checking that everything was all right and I was home safely. She told my parents that they weren’t taking the investigation any further at the moment but to call her immediately should I remember anything. She said it all to my father, as if I was from some far-off distant land and didn’t speak English – or, worse than that, as if I was five years old.
I mean, what if my dad was the one who pushed me in the river? What if that , Mrs Clever Police Inspector? I can hardly
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