Page 89 of Unbind

‘Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll stay right here,’ she trills in a soft Edinburgh accent. Oh dear God.

‘Just stay downstairs, thanks,’ I tell her hurriedly. ‘I’ll call if I need you.’

‘Right you are, dearie,’ she says with a beam and thankfully takes her leave with Dyson.

I squeeze Natalie’s hand. She’s been sitting beside me on the bed this whole time. ‘You can head off, too,’ I tell her. ‘Trish will keep an eye on me.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ she asks. ‘Of course I’m not leaving you! I’m staying right here. Just let me grab some breakfast and I’ll be right back, okay?’

Of course she needs to eat. I hate that I didn’t think of that. I hate that she’s here, fussing over me, when I should be the one caring for her, making sure she has everything she needs to stabilise her glucose levels.

‘Go,’ I growl, feeling frustrated and shitty and guilty in equal measure. ‘Go and feed yourself. I’ll be fine.’

She hesitates before bending to drop a kiss on my cheek. ‘I’ll see you shortly.’

I’m alone in my cell. My dickhead of a cellmate, Ronan, is in the infirmary—lucky twat—but they don’t have room for me. A brutal flu has swept through the prison, felling an alarming number of inmates and staff. That’s what I hear, anyway. They’ve locked us down, but I’m far too ill to leave my cell even if I wanted to.

Jesus, I’m burning up. I soaked through my sheets last night and they fucking stink, so I pulled them off and threw them on the floor. Now I lie on my bare, rubber-covered mattress, slick and revolting with sweat, in a world of pain.

I swear I can feel my pulse pounding in my skull, so badly does my head throb. Every muscle in my body is atrophying. I’m as weak as a kitten. With the staff decimated by illness, the only care we’re getting in our cells is a couple of capsules of paracetamol with our meals three times a day and the recommendation to drink as much of the metallic-tasting water from our in-cell washbasins as we can to keep our fluids up.

I open my eyes with the intention of rolling off my bunk and crawling over to the basin. I’m on the bottom bunk, but even that seems an impossible mission right now. My vision is pin-pricks—probably dehydration. I remember collapsing en route to the bathroom when I was younger and suffering from chickenpox. This feels like that: a helpless, hopeless chaos of delirium and misery.

Even Mum was a better caretaker than the screws are.

I’ve been in here for four months. I thought spending Christmas Day behind bars with only my relentless grief and guilt was a low point, but this is the fucking pits.

I close my eyes again.

I hear a voice. ‘Addy. It’s okay, Addy.’ A plastic stethoscope is pressed to my chest. A tiny hand soothes my sweaty brow. ‘Nurse Ellen is here.’

I’ve told her so many times that Addy’s a girl’s name. It used to make her laugh so much, the little monkey. Still, I fucking loved it.

‘Addy’s sick.’

I know she can’t really be here. But it seems so real, and this hallucination is a blessed silver lining—a message from my baby sister that I’m not entirely alone in this godforsaken hell-hole. I’m not prepared to open my eyes and face reality just yet.

The puddle of sweat on my mattress has cooled, andnow I’m shivering uncontrollably. Jesus fuckingChrist. From somewhere in my broken, dehydrated body, the tears appear, and I begin to weep.

‘Adam.’She’s saying it correctly now. What happened toAddy? ‘Adam, honey. It’s me. You’re okay.’

‘Ellen,’ I whisper. Fuck, my mouth is dry and my lips feel like they might crack open.

I’m pretty sure she sobs. ‘No, honey. It’s Nat. You’re okay. I’m here.’

Nat?At her name, at the jolt of recognition that rocks me as I traverse that trippy chasm from delirium to lucidity, I open my eyes. Ellen’s gone, drifting backwards through some celestial portal, no doubt, but I swear I can feel her presence. My first rational thought, though, is relief. Yeah, I’m still shivering, but I’m in my bed. In myhome. Not in that cell that will haunt me for the rest of my days. And my beautiful Nat is here.

I’m safe.

‘It’s okay,’ she croons, taking the now-cold compress off my forehead. I look up at her, startled and unsure, my heart pounding. My face is wet with tears, but her beautiful brown eyes are tear-filled, too. Why is she crying?

‘Jesus, you’re shivering,’ she says, sniffing and blinking briskly, like she’s trying to pull herself together. She grabs a tissue from the bedside table and wipes the tears from under my eyes. ‘Let me grab Trish and we’ll change your sheets. They’re soaked through.’

‘No.’ With what feels like herculean effort, I reach up and snag her wrist. ‘Stay with me for a sec.’

‘Okay,’ she says softly. ‘Of course.’ She extricates herwrist and rounds the bed so she can climb on and snuggle up next to me. ‘You were asking for Ellen.’ Her voice is so quiet and hesitant. ‘I didn’t know what—are you all right?’

God, I feel so stupid. She must think I’m a nutter. My voice sounds thick, sluggish, as I hasten to reassure her. It hasn’t caught up to my inner panic. My confusion.

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