Page 20 of Isle of Pain

10

MARIE

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME

“Lisa had a sarcoma, a rare cancer type that made the pregnancy risky,” I think I hear Dr Olmeto say to my family but it’s all unreal. I’m awake but I’m not here. More is said until a piercing scream reaches my ears.

My mother.

The wail is pain itself.

From the corner of my eyes, a silhouette approaches with decisive steps and I’m hauled up. I didn’t even realise I was still down on my knees. My vision is blurry but my sister’s voice is clear. She shakes me violently and I let her.

“You knew? You fucking knew?!” Angèle screeches in my face before she’s wrenched away by Lana.

“Calm the fuck down, this isn’t helping.”

“She fucking knew Lisa was sick and she didn’t tell us.” Then she addresses me. I should care but I don’t because nothing fucking matters now. “You disgust me. I can’t stand to look at you.”

I think she leaves, but I don’t know. My cheeks are wet with tears, my guts roil with nausea and self-hate stronger than what my sister could ever throw at me.

Voices around me aren’t forming words. My eyes can’t discern people and shapes. Fluorescent lights dance on the edges of my vision. I don’t fucking deserve to pass out.

It should have been me.

And now everyone knows we lost the wrong twin.

It should have been me.

11

MARIE

GRIEF

Ababy cries.

It gets louder.

I don’t understand where it’s coming from. My body refuses to move for a second, then I manage to open my eyes. My lashes stick together, mascara caking at the corner. I’m in my bed, in the same clothes I was in earlier today. My tongue is thick in my mouth and if I could tear my eyes out to calm the raging headache, I would.

The cries intensify and it’s like they’re in my brain. I turn to my side and press myself up, going to Ember’s crib where she’s yelling at the top of her lungs. The clock on my nightstand indicates 4:30.

“I fed you three and a half hours ago, Bibi.” No one told me a three day old baby eats every three or four hours. If I’m lucky. But Ember refuses to take the bottle from anyone but me. It’s like she chose me. It hurts as much as it soothes.

I take her in my arms and stick my pinkie into her mouth. Her greedy mouth immediately starts sucking but I know I only have five minutes before she figures out no milk is coming outand into her small belly. On silent steps, I make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen where I prepare what I need to feed her.

Then I sit on the Chesterfield chair in my dad’s office, the door closed behind me. While she drinks, Ember looks at me with wide eyes. They’re a pure green, exactly like my sister. Like me. My throat clogs but tears won’t come. I’ve shed enough to last me a lifetime. I’m dry. I wish I could cry. Then maybe the pain like a stab wound that festers in my chest would disappear. I hold a three-day old life in my hands and all I want is to die.

When she’s done, Ember falls back asleep on my chest. I listen closely to her tiny breaths, her fast heartbeat under the hand I placed on her back almost a lullaby. But sleep doesn’t come for me. It’s been three days since Lisa passed and I’ve barely slept four hours a night. I miss my sister. I miss alcohol though I don’t want to, but sweat drips down my spine at all hours of the day and my muscles tingle with need throughout the night. My hands have started to tremble and that damn headache won’t leave me in peace.

I avoid mirrors. I know what I must look like. The ghost of my sister.

The sun rises on the horizon and a soft knock echoes through the wooden door of the office. “It’s almost time,” my mother says behind me as she approaches. Her hand on my shoulder is heavy like an anvil. “How is she?”

“Hungry every three or four hours. But healthy otherwise.” I hand her her grand-daughter who still sleeps soundly.

“Lisa was a hungry baby when she was a newborn,” she says and I grimace, then she swallows thickly. My mother’s coping mechanism is the need to talk as much as she can about Lisa but I’d rather never hear her name again. How she bears to talk to me after I kept Lisa’s illness a secret is beyond mycomprehension. I don’t know if she forgave me or can’t stand to lose two daughters, maybe.

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