between them. Last night –
Misunderstood everything, taken bad for good, no for yes, not understood, got it all wrong like someone speaking another language got it wrong.
With icy dignity at last she took her empty glass to the bar, put on her jacket and went out. The car was in the car park. As she walked towards it she realized Alan was slumped over the
steering wheel, and that he was crying.
He drove her home in complete silence, drawing up outside her house and sitting still, the engine racing, eyes staring ahead through the windscreen. She got out without saying anything and he
drove away before she had got her key out.
Next day it made a great pressure in Carolyn’s head, thinking about not going home, and about going home. She didn’t want to. She felt as if she’d never
believed that she would. It all seemed impossible – going home with her Mum to her room, and all the things she kept asking her to do and the way her Mum looked at her and was upset. She
couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t. The only way she could stand to be was if they left her alone, gave her some space. Then things would come right. Life would begin again. She needed the
space. She allowed the difficulty to mushroom in her head till its physical pressure made her nauseous. All the time she knew, though. I’m not going home. OK. Not going home.
Gradually it subsided. The decision had made itself. Things began to change in the hospital. The physiotherapist came and gave her leg and foot exercises. She had a walking frame, then crutches.
She put on real clothes and sat in the day room. She could walk to the window and look out at the little toy cars and houses. No sounds of outside came through the thick glass. Finally they told
her she could go home next week. She was miles away from them; calm, polite, with a little smile on her face she nodded as her Mum talked, God’s Gift talked, Vile Chops and Martinet came and
went: far, far away, like the Snow Queen with the ice splinter in her eye, deep frozen in her own winter.
When at last she walked down the ward without a stick, walking slowly and holding herself very erect, her whole body was glassy ice, brittle and thin so she must not jolt or bump or stumble, she
must move as smoothly as if she was on wheels.
Then it was going to be tomorrow – tomorrow – and her Mum brought her a suitcase to clear out her locker into and her anorak to keep out the cold. She looked down without interest or
pity on this confusion. Her Mum brought her a new jumper to go home in. Harebell blue with a flower in little pearls stitched above the chest. It was the sort of jumper they have in expensive shop
windows, but Meg had made it. “They’re machine-washable!” she exclaimed, brushing the pearls reverently with her fingertips. “Jean put some round the neck of Lizzie’s
cardigan and she just pops it in the wash. They come up lovely, every time. I was afraid they might chip or flake – hmmn?”
“It’s very nice,” said Carolyn. “Thankyou.”
“Aren’t you going to try it on?”
Carolyn tried it on, pulling it down over her dressing gown. It was very tight.
“You should have taken that off first – you’re going to ruin the shape – Carolyn! What are you doing?”
Carolyn took it off, and undid her dressing gown. She put the jumper on again and Meg stood back to admire her.
“It’s lovely. It really suits you, that colour, it’s lovely and dainty – it really is. Oh love, you look like a different girl!”
Carolyn smiled and nodded. Looking down she saw a woolly blue torso with two small pointed breasts and a sprinkling of pearls resting above them, like a first layer of snow. She thought, it must
be funny to look like that.
She took off the jumper again, her Mum told her what they were having for tea tomorrow, and asked her what she’d had for lunch today. At last her Mum went away. Carolyn went to the phone
and telephoned Clare. When she came back she picked
Misunderstood everything, taken bad for good, no for yes, not understood, got it all wrong like someone speaking another language got it wrong.
With icy dignity at last she took her empty glass to the bar, put on her jacket and went out. The car was in the car park. As she walked towards it she realized Alan was slumped over the
steering wheel, and that he was crying.
He drove her home in complete silence, drawing up outside her house and sitting still, the engine racing, eyes staring ahead through the windscreen. She got out without saying anything and he
drove away before she had got her key out.
Next day it made a great pressure in Carolyn’s head, thinking about not going home, and about going home. She didn’t want to. She felt as if she’d never
believed that she would. It all seemed impossible – going home with her Mum to her room, and all the things she kept asking her to do and the way her Mum looked at her and was upset. She
couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t. The only way she could stand to be was if they left her alone, gave her some space. Then things would come right. Life would begin again. She needed the
space. She allowed the difficulty to mushroom in her head till its physical pressure made her nauseous. All the time she knew, though. I’m not going home. OK. Not going home.
Gradually it subsided. The decision had made itself. Things began to change in the hospital. The physiotherapist came and gave her leg and foot exercises. She had a walking frame, then crutches.
She put on real clothes and sat in the day room. She could walk to the window and look out at the little toy cars and houses. No sounds of outside came through the thick glass. Finally they told
her she could go home next week. She was miles away from them; calm, polite, with a little smile on her face she nodded as her Mum talked, God’s Gift talked, Vile Chops and Martinet came and
went: far, far away, like the Snow Queen with the ice splinter in her eye, deep frozen in her own winter.
When at last she walked down the ward without a stick, walking slowly and holding herself very erect, her whole body was glassy ice, brittle and thin so she must not jolt or bump or stumble, she
must move as smoothly as if she was on wheels.
Then it was going to be tomorrow – tomorrow – and her Mum brought her a suitcase to clear out her locker into and her anorak to keep out the cold. She looked down without interest or
pity on this confusion. Her Mum brought her a new jumper to go home in. Harebell blue with a flower in little pearls stitched above the chest. It was the sort of jumper they have in expensive shop
windows, but Meg had made it. “They’re machine-washable!” she exclaimed, brushing the pearls reverently with her fingertips. “Jean put some round the neck of Lizzie’s
cardigan and she just pops it in the wash. They come up lovely, every time. I was afraid they might chip or flake – hmmn?”
“It’s very nice,” said Carolyn. “Thankyou.”
“Aren’t you going to try it on?”
Carolyn tried it on, pulling it down over her dressing gown. It was very tight.
“You should have taken that off first – you’re going to ruin the shape – Carolyn! What are you doing?”
Carolyn took it off, and undid her dressing gown. She put the jumper on again and Meg stood back to admire her.
“It’s lovely. It really suits you, that colour, it’s lovely and dainty – it really is. Oh love, you look like a different girl!”
Carolyn smiled and nodded. Looking down she saw a woolly blue torso with two small pointed breasts and a sprinkling of pearls resting above them, like a first layer of snow. She thought, it must
be funny to look like that.
She took off the jumper again, her Mum told her what they were having for tea tomorrow, and asked her what she’d had for lunch today. At last her Mum went away. Carolyn went to the phone
and telephoned Clare. When she came back she picked
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