Before I Wake Read online

  “They should still fix that bloody button. What are we supposed to do in an emergency? Wave a white flag out the window?”

  Brian sighs and shakes out his newspaper. Sometimes he reads the more interesting or controversial articles aloud. They have no effect on Charlotte, but it helps fill the visit.

  With the cleaning done, I turn my attention to our daughter. I straighten her sheet, untucking then retucking it, then I brush her hair, wipe her face with a damp washcloth, and rub moisturizer into her hands then hover at the side of the bed, my hands twisting uselessly in front of me. Charlotte’s hair wasn’t tangled, her face wasn’t dirty, and her hands weren’t dry, but what else can I do? I could hold her hand. I could tell her how much I love her. I could beg her to please, please open her eyes and come back to us. I could cry. I could wait until I am all alone in the room, lean over the bed, gather her in my arms, and ask her why. Why didn’t I notice she was in so much pain that she’d rather die than live one more day? My own child. My baby. How could I not know? How could I not sense that?

  I could plea bargain with God. I could beg him to let me switch places with her so she could smile again, laugh again, go shopping, chat with her friends, watch films, and spend too much time on the Internet. So she could live instead of me.

  But I’ve done all of those things. I’ve done them so many times over the last six weeks that I’ve lost count, and nothing, nothing has brought her back to me.

  “I’m sorry, we can only allow a maximum of three visitors at a time. I’m afraid one of you will have to—”

  I twist around to see who’s speaking. A nurse is standing with a young couple, just outside the door. I recognize the tall, blond man she’s talking to. It’s Danny Argent, one of Oliver’s friends. I don’t recognize the girl with him.

  “But—” His eyes meet mine. “Hi, Sue.”

  “Danny.” I glance at Brian. He’s frowning. “What are you doing here?”

  He takes a step into the room. The nurse tuts loudly but he ignores her.

  “We”—he glances back at the attractive mixed-race girl in the corridor—“Keisha and me, we wanted to see Charlotte. Is that okay?”

  Brian clears his throat. He’s had a problem with Danny ever since we were called to the emergency room to witness Oli having his stomach pumped after a teenaged drinking binge. Brian went white when he saw his son lying semiconscious on a hospital gurney, then purple when he spotted Danny leaning against the wall nearby, one grubby sneaker on the paintwork, the other kicking the wheel of the gurney. He’s never forgiven him for getting his son so drunk he was hospitalized, but Oli won’t hear a bad word said against his best friend. As far as he’s concerned, nightclub promoter Danny can do no wrong.

  “Sue?” Danny says again. He jerks his head toward Keisha who smiles hopefully at me.

  I look at Brian. To an outsider, he looks perfectly normal, but I know what’s going on behind his eyes. He’s wondering if Danny’s got anything to do with Charlotte’s accident. His protective hackles are rising just seeing him in the same room as his daughter. I’ve got nothing against Danny. He’s vain, self-obsessed, and materialistic—and he’s not someone I’d choose to be Oli’s best friend—but he’s not a bad person, he’s not dangerous. He’s always treated Charlotte like a kid sister, much to her disdain, but I can’t go against Brian on this, even suspecting what I do. This is about what’s best for Charlotte, not the two of us.

  “I’m not sure…” I start, my eyes flicking from Danny to Brian and back. “I don’t know if—”

  Brian’s chair squeaks on the bleached linoleum as he stands up. “I need a coffee.” He shoots me a meaningful look. “I’ll get you one, Sue. You stay here.”

  Danny looks as surprised as I feel as Brian gives him a cursory nod and then leaves the room. Several silent seconds pass as we all wait for someone to decide what happens next.

  “Come in, come in,” I say at last, waving my hand to beckon Keisha in. She falters then drifts toward Danny and stands as close to him as she can without knocking him over. I’ve seen Milly do the same with Brian. She’ll press herself so tightly against his knees that he struggles to stay upright. With Milly, it’s a sign of her utter devotion, and from the look on Keisha’s face, I’m fairly certain the motivation is the same.

  Danny barely acknowledges his girlfriend’s presence. If it wasn’t for the fact that he just swung an arm around her shoulders and rested a hand on the back of her neck, I’d say he wasn’t even aware she was in the same room. He hasn’t taken his eyes off Charlotte for the last five minutes.

  “How is she?” he asks.

  I shrug. It’s a well-practiced response—half hopeful, half realistic. “The doctors say the worst of her injuries are healing well.”

  He frowns. “So why hasn’t she woken up?”

  “They don’t know.” I squeeze Charlotte’s hand. She’s so still and silent, you’d expect it to be cold, but it’s not; it’s as warm as mine.

  “Really? You would have thought that they’d be ab—”

  There’s a loud sniff, and we both turn to look at Keisha.

  “Oh my god.” Danny looks appalled at the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Stop it, would you? You’re embarrassing me.”

  I tense at his tone. James was the same, cold in the face of tears.

  Keisha covers her face with her hands but she can’t hide her tears. They drip off her jaw and speckle her pink top with red splashes.

  I reach out a hand, but I’m sitting too far away to touch her. “Are you okay?”

  She shakes her head and swipes at her cheeks with her right hand; her left clutches the hem of Danny’s leather jacket. She must be eighteen, twenty tops, but the gesture is that of a five-year-old child.

  “It’s just…” She swallows back a sob. “It’s just so very sad.”

  I’m surprised by her accent. I didn’t expect her to be Irish.

  “Yes it is. It’s very sad. But we’re still optimistic. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t pull through.”

  Keisha wails as though her heart is breaking and wrenches herself away from Danny.

  “Keish,” he snaps, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. “Keisha, stop it.”

  “No.” She wraps her arms around her slender waist and steps backward toward the door. “No.”

  “Keisha?” I stand up and take a slow step toward her. I hold out a hand, palm upward as though I’m approaching a startled foal. “Keisha, what is it?”

  She looks at my hand and shakes her head.

  “I’m sorry.” She takes another step toward the door, then another. She’s trembling from head to foot. “I’m really sorry.”

  “We all are.” I’m trying to stay calm, but my heart is beating violently in my chest. “But there’s no need to be so upset. She really will get—”

  “That’s not what I mean. I’m sorry that—”

  “Keish!” Danny’s voice is so loud that we both jump. “Calm the fuck down.”

  “No.” She tears her gaze from Charlotte’s face to look at her boyfriend. “She needs to know.”

  “Know what?” What’s she talking about? “What do I need to know, Keisha? Tell me.”

  She and Danny stare at each other, their eyes locked. His eyes narrow. He’s warning her, silently ordering her to shut up.

  “Keisha!” I need her to look at me. I need to break whatever spell Danny has cast on her. “Keisha!”

  “Sue? Why are you shouting?” Brian appears in the doorway behind Keisha, a cup of steaming coffee in each hand.

  I stare at him in astonishment. How long has he been there?

  “I knew it.” He glares at Danny. “I bloody knew there’d be trouble if I let you—”

  He’s interrupted by Keisha who moans softly, then shoulders Brian out of the way and sprints out of the room. Hot coffee slops onto the c
old, vinyl floor.

  “Keish!” Danny’s after her in a flash.

  There’s a horrible moment when he and Brian face off in the doorway and I think someone’s going to throw a punch, but then Brian steps to the side to let Danny pass. I hear Keisha shriek something as her boyfriend’s sneakers pound the corridor, then the room falls silent again.

  The heart monitor beep-beep-beeps in the corner of the room.

  Brian looks at me, confusion and shock etched onto his face. “What the hell happened?” There’s an unspoken accusation behind the question, and he looks at Charlotte, concerned. “I could hear that girl screaming from the vending machine in the corridor. I’m surprised the nurse didn’t come back. Or security. What did she mean?” He places the coffee cups on the bedside table and takes Charlotte’s other hand.

  “Who?”

  “The girl with Danny. She shouted something as she was running down the corridor.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Brian fixes me with a look. “She shouted, ‘Stupid fucking girl. She trusted me, she thought I was her best friend, and look what happened to her.’”

  Saturday, September 15, 1990

  It was James on the phone on Wednesday. He was terribly apologetic, said some awful things had happened in his personal life and asked if I’d ever be able to forgive him for leaving me hanging. I wanted to be angry, to tell him that I deserved to be treated better and that he couldn’t just expect me to forgive him because he’d deigned to pick up the phone. Instead I said, “Buy me a beer and I’ll think about it.” He called me an angel then and said it was typical of the amazing person I was that I’d be so understanding.

  When we met for a beer, I tried to find out more about these “personal things” that had stopped him from calling, but he skirted the issue, telling me he’d reveal all once we’d been together a bit longer. (So we’re “together,” are we? Interesting!)

  Almost inevitably, we ended up in bed together. Again.

  We’d been to the Heart and Hand in Clapham Common, and as last orders were called, I suggested we get the tube back to my flat because I had a couple of bottles of wine that needed drinking. James jumped at the idea. He said he couldn’t wait to see my flat and what my things said about me. As it turned out, all he saw as we spilled through the front door, into the bedroom, and onto my futon was a couple of magnolia-painted walls and the white ceiling.

  Afterward, as we lay in each other’s arms, listening to “Monkey Gone to Heaven” by the Pixies, I asked James when I’d get to see his place. A cloud passed over his face and he said, “Never, hopefully.” When I asked what that meant, he shrugged and said he needed the loo. When he came back, he said something that made me laugh and that was it, subject changed without me even noticing.

  I won’t give up so easily next time the subject comes up…

  Chapter

  Five

  “Keisha Malley?” Oli reaches across the table for a cookie and bites into it. He’s only been back in the house for ten minutes and he’s nearly demolished an entire pack of chocolate HobNobs. “Fit black girl? Yeah, I know her, goes out with Danny.”

  It’s the day after the incident with Keisha and Danny in the hospital, but I’m still reeling. What did she mean—“She trusted me, she thought I was her best friend, and look what happened to her.”

  Brian and I talked about what had happened all the way home and for hours into the night, but we still couldn’t unravel it. It took all my self-restraint and Brian’s firm hand on the phone not to call Oli at midnight to ask him for Danny’s number so I could get some answers there and then.

  “Did Charlotte ever mention anything about Keisha being her best friend?”

  “Keisha? Her best friend? You’re kidding me, right? What about Ella? Those two are as thick as thieves.” He raises an eyebrow. “Or did they fall out?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Charlotte never mentioned falling out with Ella but then…” I tail off. I’m starting to get the impression there’s a lot I don’t know about my daughter’s life.

  Oli pulls a face. “It’s a bit unlikely, isn’t it? A fifteen-year-old and a nineteen-year-old being best friends? Or is it different with girls?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “But why would Keisha say that if it wasn’t true?”

  “She’s a woman. She’s mental!” He laughs then looks contrite. “Sorry, Sue, present company excepted.”

  “Oliver James Jackson,” Brian bellows from the porch. “Are you insulting your mother again?”

  He fixes Oli with a steely stare, but he can’t stop his lips from twitching into a smile and giving him away.

  His son doesn’t miss a beat. “Thought I’d give you the day off, old man.”

  “Oi!” Brian crosses the kitchen and lightly cuffs him around the back of his head. “Less of the old, thank you very much.”

  I smile as they slip effortlessly into their roles for the father-son banter-athon. Information is swapped, insults are traded, and jokes are told and never once do the grins slip from their faces. I adore watching the two of them together, but a tiny, hateful part of me is jealous. Theirs is a closeness I could only dream of sharing with Charlotte. When she was born, when I held her in my arms for the first time, my head was full of happy imaginings for the future—the two of us shopping together for shoes, gossiping over manicures, cooing over Hollywood hunks in the cinema, or just sitting around the kitchen table chatting about our days. But it never quite turned out that way.

  I was Charlotte’s favorite person in the whole world until she turned eleven, but then something changed. Instead of skipping home excitedly from school to tell me all about her day, she became sullen and withdrawn. Instead of giggling on the sofa together at an episode of Scooby-Doo, she’d hole herself away in her room with her laptop and mobile phone for company. She’d scowl if I so much as peeped my head around the door to offer her a cup of tea. Brian tried to reassure me that it was normal, all part of her becoming a teenager. He reminded me of the way his relationship with Oli had suffered at a similar age, and although I could vaguely recall them clashing, it was always over things like bedtimes and pocket money. It didn’t seem as personal as it was between Charlotte and me.

  Her refusal to talk to me was the reason I bought her her first diary. I figured it would give her an outlet for all the new, confusing feelings she was having—including ones of resentment toward me.

  “Isn’t that right, Sue?” Oli waves a hand in front of my face and laughs. “Anyone home?”

  “Sorry?” I look from him to Brian and back. “What was that?”

  “Dad just made a joke.” He raises an eyebrow. “Well, he thinks it’s a joke and I was trying to get you on my side because…” He tails off and laughs, presumably at the blank look on my face.

  “Did Sue ask you about Keisha?” Brian asks, changing the subject.

  Oli nods, but he’s just shoveled in the last HobNob and his mouth is too full to answer.

  “Yes,” I say. “He knows her—she’s Danny’s girlfriend—but Charlotte never mentioned her.”

  “Hmmm.” Brian reaches for the empty plate, deposits it in the sink, then returns to the table. “And she didn’t mention anything about falling out with Ella? Was there an argument or a disagreement of some sort?”

  Oli shakes his head. “Charlotte never really texted me with news and updates about her life. She only ever got in touch if she needed advice or…” He tails off.

  “Or what?” Brian and I ask simultaneously.

  Oli shifts in his seat. “Or if she wanted stuff bought off the Internet.”

  Brian and I share a look.

  “What kind of stuff?” he asks.

  “Nothing dodgy! Gig tickets, magazine subscriptions, eBay purchases, just stuff you need a credit card or PayPal account for.”

  “Wa
s there anything strange or unusual she asked you to get her? Before her accident?”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Like I said, just gig tickets and celebrity signed photos and junk like that.” He reaches across the table, then pauses, realizing the plate has disappeared. A frown appears between his eyebrows.

  “What is it?” Brian asks.

  Oli looks from one of us to the other. His lips part as though he’s about to say something, then close again.

  “What is it?” Now I’m worried too. “You can tell us anything, Oliver. You know that, don’t you? We won’t judge and we won’t be angry. I promise.”

  Well, I won’t be angry. Brian is sitting on the very edge of his chair, his elbows on the table, his eyes fixed on his son’s face.

  “I…” He can’t meet his dad’s gaze.

  “Please,” I say softly. “It might help.”

  “Okay.” He sits back in his chair and drums his thumbs on the table, his head down. “Okay.” He pauses again to clear his throat, and I think I might explode if I have to wait one second longer. “She asked me if I’d pay for a hotel room for her and Liam.”

  “She WHAT?!”

  “She said she didn’t want to lose her virginity in a car or the playing fields behind the school like everyone else and—”

  “A hotel room?” The back of Brian’s neck is puce. “She’s fifteen, for fuck’s sake. What the hell was she thinking? If you bloody—”

  “I didn’t do anything, Dad!” Oli holds up his hands. “I swear. I wouldn’t.”

  I can tell by the horrified look on his face that he’s telling the truth.

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” I ask.

  “Why would I?”

  “Because your FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD SISTER was planning on having sex with her seventeen-year-old boyfriend in a hotel room!” Brian is halfway out of his seat, his hands splayed on the table, the tips of his fingers white.

  “Brian.” He doesn’t so much as look at me, so I say his name again as he continues to rant. Then again. “Brian, stop it! Stop shouting. It’s not Oli’s fault.”