Page 86 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
‘I tried to come, and I had a car accident. I’ve been in hospital, in a coma.’
She looks stunned. ‘And are you?—’
‘I’m okay. Matt’s been looking after me.’ I don’t tell her about the memory loss. I can go into that another time. ‘And he’s been trying to get hold of you, too.’
Matt is back and he’s holding a tea in each hand and there’s a plastic bag swinging on his wrist that I know will contain KitKats. I think about the first time I saw him, in the hospital, how kind he was.
‘You’re really okay?’ she asks again.
And there’s something about it that breaks me. Perhaps it’s because she never asked that when Mick was hurting me. Perhaps it’s because she is asking it now, when she’s the one in hospital.
‘I’m alright,’ I say.
It’s a long day. When she’s discharged, mid-afternoon, we drive her home. I want to offer to take her back with me but I know it isn’t possible, and besides, where would I put her? I’m still staying in Dee’s spare room. Matt and I clear up the mess as best we can. And then Matt makes a trip to Tesco and buys her a stack of ready meals and pre-prepared sandwiches, because she only has use of one hand. He brings flowers, too, and a couple of magazines. While he’s gone, I put a load of washing on and make sure things like teabags and biscuits are somewhere she can reach them. I’m standing at the sink, looking out of the window, when she says my name. When I turn, she’s in the kitchen doorway, and there’s something about the way the light hits her that makes her look old. I think of Granny Rose, of how simple my love for her was compared to this.
‘I will go,’ she says. ‘To the police. I told them at the hospital that it was an accident, but you’re right. If you come with me, I’ll go.’
I’m so relieved. They have to take this seriously, with her living in hiding and him tracking her down and her arm now in plaster.
‘He’s a monster, Mum,’ I say. ‘And…’
I need to say this next thing, but it’s hard, because I spent so many years believing the opposite.
‘And?’ she asks.
‘And it isn’t your fault. None of it.’
It’s like the words unpin her because she falls to the ground, sits with her back against the wall, sobs rushing through her. I sit down beside her, not quite touching. Just there. By the time Matt returns, we’ve wiped our eyes and blown our noses, and we’re sitting with mugs of tea in the living room, the sun shining bright through the windows. He empties the bags into the fridge and cupboards. I can see from the way he keeps checking his watch that he’s eager to get on the road again. We go into the kitchen and speak in hushed voices.
‘I need to stay,’ I tell him. ‘Just tonight. We’re going to the police in the morning, to report Mick.’
‘That’s great,’ he says.
‘You go back. I’ll let Dee know.’
‘I’ll come and collect you,’ he says. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘I think so. I’ll call.’
He nods and there’s a moment when I think we’re going to hug, but neither of us is quite able to initiate it. After he leaves, Mum waits a few minutes before speaking.
‘Thank you for staying.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘You know, I felt safe here. Before he found me. It was the first time I’d felt safe for years.’
‘You’ll feel safe again,’ I tell her. ‘Because he’ll get what he deserves.’
‘I hope so.’
I have to believe that, because what else is there? Mum living in fear for the rest of her life? I have to believe she can start again, the way I have.
We eat a pizza and salad and we go to bed early. Mum lends me a pair of pyjamas and a toothbrush, and I sleep in her spare room, trying not to think about how unfamiliar it is. Trying not to think about Matt. In the early hours, I have vivid, repetitivedreams about Mick. That we’re both in hospital, that he’s found us, that we’re running away, but we’re not fast enough. And I wake up furious, because I shouldn’t have to live my life like this, and neither should she. A locksmith’s coming later to change the locks, but she’ll probably have to move again to feel safe now he knows where she lives.
It doesn’t occur to me until the morning to ask what she thought when she called me asking for help and I didn’t come.
‘I thought you were done with me,’ she says. ‘I didn’t know you’d been in an accident, of course. I thought you’d reached your limit.’
