When I Was Invisible (45 page)

She is spitting venom, her body poised to attack again, and I'm finding it hard to grapple with her, to stop her from inflicting more damage. ‘You bastard,' she hisses. I'm assuming she doesn't want to disturb and upset the other young patients by screaming at him, although how she manages to restrain herself vocally when she is a fighting bundle of anger, I don't know. ‘You're lucky I don't cut it off. I've called the police; they're on their way. I just wanted to kick the living daylights out of you before they get here. You bastard! She's my baby, she's my baby.

‘The police better lock you up for a long time because if I get my hands on you again, I will not stop until you are dead. Do you hear me?'

‘No, Mrs Frost,' I say. It's taking all my strength to hold her back. Part of me doesn't want to, of course. Part of me wants to let her go, to let her at him to give him everything he deserves. But Gail doesn't deserve to have her mother in prison, or even taken away from her no matter for how short a time. ‘Stop. Go back to Gail, please. She's the important one right now. Really, she's the one who you should be worried about. Go back to her, please.
Please
.'

That seems to sink in and she calms down enough to wrench herself away from me. ‘And you,' she snarls at me. She closes in on me, her face right up against mine. I shrink back. ‘You call yourself a woman of God – she is a child. She. Is. A. Child. You should have told me the second you found out.'

‘I was trying to support Gail, let her decide what to do.'

‘
She's a child
,' she replies with contempt. ‘You don't let children make those decisions. You tell someone. You tell me, you tell the police. You don't just let her walk back into a house where a pervert is abusing her. She could have died. If you had done something, this wouldn't have happened. We wouldn't be here now. She could have permanent liver damage from taking those pills. She could have died, all because you were too cowardly to speak up. You're a disgrace as a human being. I don't know which God you think you work for, but it isn't mine.'

Every word, every syllable, every letter of her contempt is justified and I hang my head in shame. I did wrong, trying to do right. I should have gone straight to Gail's mother, to the school or to the police. I should have done something. Doing nothing meant that Gail was pushed to this. Her mother, who has snarled at me again, goes back to her daughter. Around me nurses and doctors and orderlies and patients are staring. They have heard every word and are probably judging me, too. I know only God is meant to judge, but how can I not judge myself in this situation? How can I turn it over to the Lord and find forgiveness and understanding in Him? What I did –
nothing
– is unforgivable.

The noise in my head is suddenly so loud. So loud. I can barely think, it is so loud. When she has gone, I slam my hands over my ears, even though I know the noise is inside my head. Maybe if I can stop any more noise coming in from the outside, it won't be as bad on the inside. But no, the noise keeps on coming. I start to walk quickly towards the exit, the noise so loud it's blinding me as well as deafening me. I need silence. I need to find the silence. I need anything that will make this noise and pain stop.

I need Nika.

Nika isn't answering her door. I've been buzzing and buzzing and buzzing her and she won't answer the door. I am desperate now. From the moment I left the hospital I have had this feeling inside, a desperate, urgent need to speak to her. It has only got worse with time. Trapped inside my chest is a bag of wild, agitated cats fighting each other, fighting to be released. I need to see Nika so I can set everything inside my chest free.

And she isn't answering. I came straight here from the hospital and it is late afternoon. I thought she would be here by now and I would be able to see her. I push the buzzer again, knowing that it is buzzing into an empty flat. Or it is buzzing into a flat where the resident is sitting on the sofa, ignoring the desperate, slightly crazed woman standing on the doorstep.

I swing away from the large doorway, wondering what to do. Should I walk down towards her hotel? What if she takes a different route home from work and I miss her? I'll have all these emotions, this bag of crazed cats in my chest, for much longer, far longer than I think I can bear. A blonde woman wearing a raincoat approaches the front door and in my desperation, I go towards her. I calm myself, though, don't want to appear too erratic and unstable for her to speak with.

‘Excuse me, do you know Nika?' I ask her. I even manage a normal smile.

‘Yes, why, who are you?' she asks. I want to take a step back from her: she wears far too much perfume – if I get too close I'll end up doused in it, too. She also wears far too much make-up, and I wonder for a moment what she has to hide.

‘Erm, I'm an old friend. I've trying to reach her for a while but she doesn't seem to be in. I've been wondering if you've seen her today?'

This seems to tweak her interest and she moves from being slightly scornful and irritated to all ears. ‘An old friend? Is this about Grace? Grace Carter?'

I shake my head. ‘Who's Grace Carter?' I ask, even more confused. The noise in my head is up near the levels of deafening me from the inside out. I don't have time for games and talking about Grace Carter, whoever she may be.

‘No one, I thought … Never mind,' the blonde woman says, disappointed and then back to being uninterested in me again. ‘You say Nika isn't in? Well, sorry, then, I can't help you really.'

‘I thought she'd be home from work by now as she was out so early this morning …'

‘Sorry, can't help you.'

The woman shoves her key into the lock of the outer door. If she'll let me in, I can wait outside Nika's door. Then it occurs to me – of course! Of course!
Marshall
. Maybe she's with him. ‘Do you know Marshall?' I ask.

The woman stops pushing open the door and turns to me. ‘Yes, I know Marshall,' she replies, looking at me suspiciously. ‘I know most of the people in the building.'

‘Do you know what number he lives in?'

‘Yes, but why?'

‘I thought Nika might be there.'

‘Why would Nika be in his flat?'

‘Because he's her …'
Eliza
. I am probably talking to Eliza.
Of course
I'm talking to Eliza. Neither Nika nor Marshall had said anything about her again after mentioning her briefly during their initial conversation, but I know without a doubt that this is her and I should not say anything more, not when I know she is capable of dropping a couple of dollops of crazy on Nika and interfering with their relationship.

‘He's her what?' she asks.

‘Friend? He's her friend. She mentioned he was her friend the other day.'

‘Right. And you think she might be in his flat, since she's his friend?'

‘It was just a thought,' I say. ‘She also mentioned someone called Eliza, do you know her? She's another of her friends. If you could tell me where she lives, maybe Nika's there?'

She regards me with contempt, her green eyes hard and unconvinced: she has not been fooled
at all
by my cover-up attempt. ‘I'm Eliza. But obviously she's not in my flat since I'm out here.' Eliza stares down her nose at me. ‘But you're right, she might be in Marshall's flat. Why don't we go and check?'

She is terrifying. In the moments when she realised that I was about to say Marshall was Nika's boyfriend, a transformation has taken place, moving her from wary stranger to violently jealous ex. Although, I can't imagine Marshall with her. She seems too … there's a word for her, it's there at the back of my mind, on the tip of my tongue to describe the many facets of instability she is displaying but I can't put my finger on it. She simply does not seem like Marshall's type. But who is anyone's type? If you knew me between the ages of twelve and sixteen you would not have thought I was God's type. Although, God does want sinners to turn to him, so maybe I was always God's type, I simply didn't realise it until the nun gave me her book.

‘No, it's OK, I think I'm just going to wait for her here.'

‘Good idea, I'll go up and check on my own.' The fake smile she treats me to before she steps in through the doorway is sinister and quietly ferocious. She seems to be already dismembering Nika in her head.

This is why I should have a MOBILE PHONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I could warn Nika about the trainee serial killer heading her way. And this Eliza hasn't told me which flat Marshall lives in so I can't buzz up to him to alert him to her approach. It sounded, from their conversation the other day, that Marshall and Nika mainly had sex. Which would make it a safe bet that if they're together, they're more than likely engaged in
that
right now. If Eliza knocks on his door and they're
in flagrante delicto
, she's bound to find out. I suspect when
that
happens Eliza's going to go absolutely—

‘I thought you'd gone home?' Nika says to me. I have been so busy fretting in the wake of Eliza's exit that I haven't been watching the comings and goings on the street.

‘I did,' I say. I have to stop myself from throwing my arms around her. I am so relieved to see her. Now the noise in my head will stop, and Eliza won't find her in some state of undress in Marshall's flat and start dismembering people. ‘I came back. I had to see you. I need to explain.'

‘Roni, not tonight. I am exhausted in every way possible, this is not the time for this conversation.'

‘I have to tell you why. It's not an excuse, and I don't want you to forgive me or even to understand, but I want to be honest. Please. Afterwards I'll do my best to leave you alone. It'll be hard, but I'll try.'

I wonder what she is seeing when she stands very still, watching me like she does from behind her glasses. I wonder if she sees me with pigtails with pink ribbons at the ends, wearing the same expression as her – someone who has also decided she wants to be a dancer. I wonder if she is looking back through time to the moment when she knew we were going to be the best of friends, the closest of soulmates.

Possibly, probably, because eventually she says: ‘Fine. I'm too tired to argue with you right now. I'm too tired for much of anything.' Her keys jangle as she moves to unlock the front door.

‘Oh, by the way, I think I might have dropped you in it with Eliza?' I figure I should mention that now, before we start to talk about the other stuff.

Nika rolls her eyes. ‘Why, what did you d— Actually, to be honest, I don't want to know. I don't care. I'll deal with her when I have to. Just come in and tell me what you want to tell me and then you can get the last train back to London.'

She doesn't make me get the train back to London. She sits and she listens and I find myself telling her everything. I was going to tell her a portion of it and explain why I did what I did, but then I can't stop. I talk and talk and talk. I even tell her about Gail, about what Gail's mother said to me and how I knew it was true. As I talk, the noise in my head eases, it lowers and lowers and lowers until I can't hear it. Until there's barely a sound in my head.

When I had made my decision to become a nun, I started to go to weekly confession. I used to seal myself into the wooden box and tell everything to the priest of a church three train stops away. I did not want to speak to anyone who might know me or who might recognise my voice. I wanted the freedom to speak freely. The priest would listen and he would absolve me. When I left the confessional, for a time, the noise in my head would be gone, banished by speaking my truth. I would have the silence I craved. That was how I knew becoming a nun was the right thing to do: where God was, I could find the silence, God was in and with the silence.

That effect, anaesthetising and cleansing as it was, had started to fade in recent years. Most acutely in recent months when thoughts of Judas started to encroach on all my prayers and all my thoughts away from prayers. That was when I accepted that I had betrayed Nika in a way that I could not ask anyone but her for forgiveness. I accepted, too, that I had betrayed God by not being honest about what I had done in any of my confessions. I was a betrayer, a coward, and this was my chance to put things right.

‘Will you pray with me?' I ask her when I have finished talking. We are sitting in her bed again, the warmest place in the flat, it seems, unless we sit directly in front of the lit oven.

Nika shakes her head. ‘That's not for me. But feel free to do it if you want.'

I ask her another question then, and she stares at me. She stares at me and stares at me and stares at me. ‘Yes,' she eventually says.

And she doesn't say another word to me all night.

I'm doing it for Reese. He's probably dead because of me and I need something good to have come out of the death wish he said I have that most likely got him killed.

I'm also doing it for a fifteen-year-old girl whose best friend betrayed her when she needed her most.

I'm doing it for me, for Nika, the girl that no one would ever believe.

‘What's this, brought another nun to try and convert us all, have you?' Uncle Warren says with a laugh.

My uncle's laugh – actually, his voice – grates on me today. He sits on the sofa beside my mother, wearing Dad's slippers, with the top button of his shirt open. It's obvious he slept here last night. I'm grateful I wasn't here: he would have tried to speak to me, probably would have made a few of his unfunny quips then expected me to accept his apology. I would have, as well. It's hard not to when someone is telling you they are sorry and you're almost trained to make allowances for them.