Small Blue Thing (19 page)

I fumbled for the car keys as I went, trying not to think about how many laws I was about to break. It was the only way, though: Josh was in an exam so he couldn’t help, and the bus just
wasn’t fast enough.

I looked at my watch again as I slid into the driver’s seat. Twenty minutes. Luckily the school gates were open and I was soon on the road. I had to focus on keeping my speed down, though I wanted to floor the accelerator. I made it to the big junction by the dual carriageway and sat drumming my fingers as I waited for a gap in the traffic.

“Don’t stall, don’t stall, don’t stall,” I found myself chanting as I spotted my chance between a big green lorry and a delivery van. I was in luck – the road to Kew was almost empty. I pressed the accelerator down and tried to make up some time.

As I drove I was haunted by a vision of Grace looking bewildered and lost as her memories of Jack were sucked out of her, and couldn’t shake the picture that kept coming next: of her slumped and vacant, her brain scrambled beyond repair. Cold sweat on my palms made my hands slip as I turned into Kew Road with five minutes to go: five minutes to park and search over three hundred acres of garden. My heart sank. How did I ever think that this was going to be possible?

But I knew where they would be. I remembered what Eloïse had said: they were going to the Treetop Walkway in the southeastern part of the gardens, close to where I was now. I could still make it.

I drove along the road until I saw the first visitors’ gate into the gardens. I had been in this entrance a few times years ago but I wasn’t sure if I would remember the way. Cars were parked all down the side of the road, interspersed with big coaches, leaving nowhere to park. I had no time to waste. I pulled up right next to the gate and abandoned the car, looking at my watch. Three minutes.

With an apologetic glance I dodged the small queue of people, vaulted over the ticket barrier and ran for it.

The women behind the ticket office leapt out of her chair and started shouting at me but she had no chance of catching up. I ran as fast as I could. The pain in my lungs was like a fire as I gasped for breath, but I didn’t dare stop.

I could see the walkway ahead of me, just past the Pagoda. I glanced at my watch: it was eleven o’clock. I was too late. Somewhere, somewhere close, Catherine was beginning to suck out Grace’s memories, her feelings and her thoughts, taking things from her that she could never get back. And Grace would be beginning to fight…

I was at the point of collapse when I saw them.

Clustered around the bottom of the Pagoda, the group of sixth formers from the two schools were listening to a lecture. I could see Rob, slouching against the wall and looking bored. I couldn’t see Grace.

I had no breath to shout, but I found a final burst of energy. I sprinted behind the Pagoda, away from the rest of the group, where she had to be. I had no time to explain: the sooner I got to her, the less she would lose.

Finally I saw her standing in the shadow of the strange, oriental building. She was alone and had her back to the wall. For just a moment, I thought that I was in time, but then I noticed her unnatural stillness. She was standing bolt upright, hands held out a little from her sides and with her head angled up. Her eyes were glassy.

I was too late.

As I ran the last few metres I saw her body jerk as if it were being electrocuted. I slid to a halt and reached for her bag,
shouting, “Catherine! Stop. You’ve got the wrong person!”

My voice had no effect. I fumbled at the fasteners on Grace’s bag. There was the envelope. Hands shaking, I tore it open and the amulet fell into my lap. I scooped it up and thrust it on to Grace’s wrist, calling again as I held it.

“Catherine, stop! It’s me you want.”

As I shouted, I let go of the amulet and immediately Grace collapsed on to the ground in front of me. For a moment, I felt terror: whatever had happened to Grace could now happen to me, but I had no time to think about it properly. I felt sure that Grace was safe: the amulet would protect her, but in a single frozen second, I realised that my careful plan for the safekeeping of the amulet had gone horribly wrong. Grace wouldn’t know that she shouldn’t wear it, or that she shouldn’t give it back to me. On the grass in front of me I could see the memory card, thrown out of the envelope when I had ripped it open.

It was too late to worry about that now, I couldn’t stop this happening. A spark of comfort flashed through my head: I was about to get my old life back. Thoughts of Callum tumbled through my mind, and I waited for Catherine. I thought of his touch, his smile, his embarrassment at being complimented. Like a speeded-up video, the memories whipped through my mind, dissolving before I could grasp them. I realised with a flicker of panic that somehow Catherine was there and pulling them out of my mind, unravelling the most important part of my life like a thread on a spool.

I tried not to fight, to make the process easy for her and safe for me. The memories continued scrolling past: I saw myself on the beach by the Thames, examining the dazzling blue stone in the bracelet I had found, but then I realised I was thinking about
my recent exams … my plotting with Grace to catch the interest of Rob and Jack … Christmas … our family holiday last year in Spain… The memories came faster and faster, and then they were gone. I was now a gawky young teenager, now a child. I saw myself in the playground of the reception class, my long blonde plait flying in my reflection in a window as I tore around with my friends; my parents, shockingly young, teaching me to swim in the pool at Josh’s primary school; my favourite toy, a tattered puppy. All of them were there for an instant before they streamed away from me.

My whole life was disappearing. Everything that made me who I was was being ripped from me. I was watching a video being played along the wall of a tunnel, and I was racing towards the black hole at the end.

Too late I knew that I had been tricked. Through the confused whirl of my past, I could sense a malicious presence standing next to me laughing with delight and triumph.

The blackness advanced and all I could remember was that someone, somewhere had loved me. I clung to that as the last of my memories swirled past me, and I felt myself falling to the floor.

Hospital

I tried to struggle out of the blackness, groping my way through the strange fog in my mind. But however hard I tried, everything stayed dark. My body felt heavy, my arms lying useless by my sides. Where was I? The fog swirled and thickened and I felt my mind wander – it was much easier than trying to focus on anything. But I knew that I had been somewhere for something important. Someone was waiting for me. I wanted to go back, but I just wasn’t sure how.

I tried to concentrate, but it was no good: nothing was coming to me. My mind was just … blank. I could feel little whispers of thoughts but every time I turned to catch them they were gone like ghosts.

With no real response from my mind, I decided to see if I could get my body to work. I took a deep breath and felt for my fingers. They were there alright – I could feel something pressing down on one of them, but they wouldn’t move. I tried my feet, but couldn’t persuade them to move either. I certainly couldn’t see, I knew that, but maybe I could hear?

Almost as soon as I had the thought I became aware of a noise in the distance – a short bleep. Then another and another. Now I was aware of it, the sound banged away like a drumbeat. As I listened it got faster, until I felt almost breathless. I tried breathing deeply again, and eventually the bleeping returned to its
earlier pace. I couldn’t make it stop though, however carefully I concentrated. I wished that I could go back to the silent fog – it was rather less irritating.

I slowly became aware of another beeping noise, this time slightly further away. Then a slight squeaking noise, like rubber-soled shoes on linoleum.

“Oh dear,” a voice wavered, “oh dear…”

“What is it, Mrs Moyse?”

“Oh dear, oh…”

“Does it still hurt?”

“Where am I supposed to be, dear?” asked the feeble voice.

“You’re in the hospital, Mrs Moyse, don’t try to get up. You are in the intensive care unit. You gave us all a bit of a fright. Your family are outside if you want to see them. Shall I get them for you?”

“Oh dear, I suppose so…”

As the squeaking footsteps disappeared into the distance I became aware of another noise, an almost silent sobbing, as if someone had cried so much there was nothing left.

“Oh, Alex, come back to us,” the woman whispered. “It’s Mum,” she said, her voice catching. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but they don’t know for certain that you can’t, I’m going to keep talking to you until…” Her voice broke, and I felt something wet on my hand.

After a short pause and a lot of sniffing the voice continued. “I wish I knew what happened to you and Grace at the Pagoda. Grace has no memory of it at all. The ambulance men think that maybe you’d been exposed to some kind of fumes or something toxic, but all your tests are negative. I just wish I knew – maybe then we could work out how to help you.”

I tried to clear my head of the creeping fog. Mum? Grace? I felt that I ought to know these people, but there was nothing in my head where the picture of their faces should be. What had I been doing in the Pagoda? What pagoda? The fog was creeping over my thoughts again but I forced myself to keep listening.

The bleeping noise was getting faster again, and something someone had said made an itch inside my head. What was it? There was some connection between the strange beeping and what I had heard.

“We have had lots more cards,” the woman’s voice continued gently, “and loads of flowers, but they won’t let us bring them in here. There is a huge card from your class – I’ll read you out all the messages later – and a very nice one from Rob.” The voice became more reflective. “He was very upset about something when he spoke to me. Did you two have another fight? I thought you’d split up but he still seems very keen.” The voice paused. “He seems to think that you were pretty upset, but I don’t believe that you would do anything silly. Not you. You are always so full of…”

The voice suddenly dissolved as she began to sob. What was so wrong? Who was this Rob and what had happened between us? Why would it upset her so much?

Eventually her breathing became more even. I waited to see if she would continue.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I’m not supposed to do that. But you know me… It’s just so hard. We have no idea what happened to you. If we knew that, maybe we would be able to make it right, get you better, bring you home…” The voice caught again, and I could tell she was struggling to regain control.

I could hear the bleeping again, and a couple of pieces of the jigsaw finally clicked into place in my confused and foggy brain. I
was in hospital, and it didn’t sound as if my prognosis was good.

But I was fine – I just needed to tell this woman that she had the wrong bed, that I just couldn’t move for some reason. And as soon as I could work that out I could get on with …. what? I began to have a vague sense that something was really quite wrong.

I tried to concentrate. The woman was starting to talk again, but in a rather different tone.

“No, there is no change that I have noticed.”

“It’s very strange,” said a new voice. “The printouts show that her heart rate went up dramatically just a few minutes ago. Are you sure there was no change in her colour, or…”

“I’ve been watching all the time for anything different, but she is just the same. Do you think that the heart rate is a good sign?” the first voice asked hopefully.

“Rather the opposite I’m afraid. It may be a sign that her system is stressed, and, given her condition, that’s not a good development. We have talked about the possibility…”

The woman interrupted, and there was desperation in her voice. “But not so soon? I … I … thought we would have more time. Time to work out what to do.”

“As we’ve said, it’s very, very hard to predict,” soothed the second voice. “With the machines these days people – like Alex – with irreversible brain stem dysfunction can be kept alive indefinitely. But you know that it’s important to come to terms with the fact that, even if we work out what happened to Alex, she won’t get any better.” The tone changed, became softer, less professional. “I’ve seen the scans.” A doctor, then.

They can’t have been talking about me. They must have the wrong bed, I reasoned. There was nothing wrong with me. I just couldn’t move and I couldn’t think very clearly. Surely the scans
could see that I was really alright. But what if they
were
talking about me? What would they do to me if they didn’t know I could hear them? If they didn’t know I could think? I tried to keep calm. The second voice was talking gently again and I had to concentrate hard to catch it all.

“Did you know that Alex joined the organ donor register when she got her provisional driving licence?” The question was hesitant.

There was silence. Then the first voice spoke again, so full of pain it was a miracle she could continue.

“We talked about it. She was so sure that she wanted to be able to do something good if…” Her voice petered out.

“I know it’s very hard, but I think you should give it some thought. Whatever happened to Alex, it only affected her brain. All her organs are in perfect condition and she would be an ideal donor.” The voice softened again. “There are a lot of other parents waiting for a miracle too.”

There was a moment of silence, then the woman made a strange sound, of misery so deep, so absolute that I felt my heart would break for her. She couldn’t speak, but I could feel her rocking against my bed. The other voice kept quiet, letting her grieve.

I really needed to concentrate now. There had been a hideous mistake and the woman who thought she was my mother was thinking about letting them take out my organs. I had to let them know that I could hear, that I
was
here.

I tried again to focus all my efforts on moving my hand. She was holding it, so all I had to do was twitch it a little. I took a deep breath and willed all my strength to my fingers. For a second I thought it might work, that I could get through to her, but there was nothing. It was as if I was trying to push water uphill: all my
efforts slipped away.

“You don’t have to decide now,” the calm voice murmured. “There is still plenty of time. But it really doesn’t do any of you any good to keep her in this state. We’ve done the assessments and with no prospect of recovery you have to let her go. We can either use her organs to help others, or, switch off the machines and let nature take its course. Either way you will be able to get on with the grieving process.”

There was silence. Why wasn’t she responding? I desperately wanted to be able to see. What if she was nodding?

“Thank you for being so honest,” she choked. “Her father and I will decide what to do when he gets here later. He’s been with our son today. He’s taken it really badly.”

A reprieve then, for a short while. “I’ll be back later,” said the second voice, “and the nurses will alert me immediately if there is any change.”

“Thank you,” breathed the woman, and I felt her squeeze my hand. Shoes squeaked across the floor again and it went quiet, except for all the bleeping noises.

I had some time to think.

So I was paralysed but conscious; someone I didn’t know was making decisions about whether I lived or died; and I had no proper memories at all. Even my confused brain knew that this was very, very bad. I fought rising panic with an effort to be logical. The woman thought she was my mother. One possibility was that she was right. If I accepted that, then I had to assume that she would have my best interests at heart. She certainly sounded as if she cared. I guessed that she was unlikely to switch off the machines – switch
me
off – if there was any other option.

But the doctor had suggested that there was no other
real option. A surge of panic flooded through me. If there was no other option, I was going to die, and die soon.

I became aware of the bleeping noise again, getting faster and faster. Finally I worked out what it was: a heart monitor. I was listening to my heart’s desperate, futile efforts, and I was listening to my only communication with the outside world.

As I listened to the rhythmic noise, counting down towards my death, I realised that I did have an option: maybe I could make myself understood by changing my heart rate. I tried to relax, and see if I could stop it racing.

I concentrated on slowing my breathing and started to feel calmer. In response, I could hear the monitor beginning to slow a little. I started to get excited with the thought that it might actually work, and the monitor’s beeping speeded up. I had to get the woman to notice something. Perhaps if I could make myself as calm as possible, any change would be more dramatic.

I let myself drift. The fog I had been fighting earlier began to seep back around the edges of my mind. I let it unfurl and felt myself relax as its long tendrils began to wrap themselves around me. Giving into it was strangely comforting and I felt my concerns slip away. The fog soothed and stroked. There seemed to be nothing to do but give myself to the fog. Had I ever wanted anything else? Nothing else seemed to matter. There was a sudden noise which seemed to come from a thousand miles away, and for a second the fog parted. I could hear the woman’s voice again, urgent now.

“Alex! Don’t go! Fight it, come back to me.”

I struggled to understand. Go where? What was she so upset about?

The fog swirled and writhed.

“Alex, don’t give up, please. Please! Not just yet. Wait! Wait
for Dad, at least!” She sounded so desperate that I began to fight. I gathered all my strength, forcing the fog back into the corners. It retreated, but I could sense it was there, waiting to come back. I realised I couldn’t risk letting it in again.

I remembered my plan. Had it worked? Had it been worth inviting the fog to take me? Had the woman noticed any change? Had something I had done prompted this emotional outburst? I listened to the bleeping. It seemed so placid, giving no hint of the emotional turmoil going on inside my head.

“Alex, please,” she begged, “you need to keep fighting. I can’t believe that you can’t hear me. You look almost as if you’re sleeping.” She paused. “I remember when you were little and every time I told you not to do something you’d do it. For a while I was able to get you to do all sorts of stuff by just telling you it wasn’t allowed. But then you got wise to my trick. I’m not sure that you have ever really done anything that you didn’t want to do since then. It makes me wonder how you have ended up in here, in this state.”

She hesitated again. I waited to see if she was going to give me any more clues about that, but she was off in another direction. “You have been acting so strangely lately though. Always off on your own.” She took a deep breath. “So secretive. Grace doesn’t have a clue either … unless she’s somehow in on it. I can’t imagine she would keep anything from us now, though.” Another pause, then another deep breath.

“Grace will be coming later. I thought you would want to see her. The doctors won’t usually let anyone except family in here, but I have been able to get her special permission. You two have always been so close. It will be hard on her, especially as she seems to blame herself, although I can’t think why she should.”