bundle of mail arrived from Caen, the stuff Jana had forwarded: the blood test results and some Christmas cards. I ripped open the blood test. Now I would have a weapon against Myra, proof that I really was ill! When I read it my heart sank. It said there had been a mix-up at the lab, they’d lost the samples and they wanted to re-do the tests, could I please make an appointment? I read it twice to make sure I’d understood. I screwed it up and threw it across the carpet. Agnes batted it under the table. I had no chance now, I was at Myra’s mercy forever.
The Christmas cards – so pointless in the middle of January – were from people who had no idea I’d come home. All three had pictures of penguins with stupid smiles.
Agnes was curving her paws round the table leg, catching the twist of paper then batting it away again. I binned the penguins, took Agnes upstairs and cried into her.
More tests: a chest x-ray; an ECG; a kidney x-ray; a liver function test; a barium meal and a barium enema (beware the white shit that won’t flush!).
Negative! Myra crowed, as each result came back.
But I’m getting worse. My legs are like jelly. The pain’s burning into my bones. I feel sick all the time. My brain feels inflamed. Why don’t you believe me?
Helen, there is nothing physically wrong with you. If this goes on I think you should see a clinical psychologist. Believe me, I’m the doctor.
(Believe me. Just for a change. I’m the patient.)
It turned out I’d already been tested for brucellosis. Rita, who thought it was a possibility, after all, had asked for me to be tested and was told I already had been.
I had to sign on now that I’d sent my grant back. Officially, I was no longer a student. Officially, I was no longer anything.
The dole office was a grim flat building with bits of grey roughcast falling off. Rita waited for me in the car. It was my first time signing on. There was a man arguing about his claim when I went in. He was saying that it was fucking daylight robbery. He had an Alsatian on a long lead and he’d dressed it in a white T-shirt. The dog’s tongue was hanging out and it was panting.
I waited for my turn and was called to a booth. I recognised the girl behind the glass. She’d been in the year below me at school. Her brother used to scare people in the playground by turning his eyelids inside out.
I explained that I was out of uni for a while.
Are you looking for work? she said.
No, I’m ill. I had to come home from France.
It’s all right for some, swanning off to France, she said. You’ll need a sick note from your doctor if you’re not available for work.
I don’t have a sick note. They don’t know what’s wrong with me yet. (And by the way, your perm’s fucking horrible, it’s growing out and you don’t even suit it.)
Well, if you want any money you’ll need to sign on as available for work, she said, pushing a bundle of blue and white forms under the glass divider.
Since I’d come back from France Rita’d been dragging me out to the park in an attempt to pep me up. You’re getting too peely-wally, she’d say. Just a short walk to get some colour in your cheeks. We’d wrap up and climb the fence and cross the ditch (funny to see your mother jumping a ditch), pass the Michael tree, and I’d be exhausted by the time we reached the castle. We’d sit on the bench and look down at the loch for answers.
One time we went straight to the bench after a bad appointment with Myra. You could drive to the castle and park there.
There were bursts of purple and yellow crocuses all around us.
I love spring flowers, said Rita. They’re so full of hope, the way they push up through the hard ground.
They’re lovely, I said, but you wonder how they can stand the cold. I turned to face her. D’you think I’ll be better by next spring, Mum?
We’re going to get to the bottom of this, pet, she said, putting her arm round me. I promise you. We won’t give up ‘til they’ve found out what’s wrong with you. And as soon as we know, we can start getting you better.
I smiled and tried not to cry. Rita tried not to cry and smiled back.
D’you remember when you were small, she said, and you wanted to have your wedding reception at the castle, with cheese sandwiches and a giant pot of tea?
Yeah, and remember the time I put my hand in a hole in the ground over there and it came out covered in wasps?
You were screaming the park down.
And we went to Casualty and a nurse gave me a Jaffa Cake.
It seems like a lifetime ago, she said, sighing. Sean wasn’t even born. I must’ve been pregnant with him.
I just remember being curious about the hole and putting my foot in and when nothing happened I put my hand in, I said.
Maybe you were expecting a wee mole or something.
Maybe – d’you know what the French word for wasp is?
No. We never got to insects at school, she said.
It’s une guêpe, pronounced ‘gep’. I remember the first time I saw it, I thought it was pronounced ‘gweep’ and the French teacher was killing himself.
Gweep’s a nice word, said Rita.
It’s a lovely word.
We stayed there for an hour, both of us drawing comfort from the loch.
I think I need to go home soon, I said. I’m feeling really crap.
Brian was stroking his face with a pussy willow stem and giggling. I like this furry stuff, he said. It’s lovely.
It’s called pussy willow, I said. I got it for Rita for Mother’s Day.
Is it real fur, he said, like Agnes?
No, I laughed. It just feels like it. What did you get your mum for Mother’s Day?
I got her daffodils but I wish I’d got this furry stuff.
Two weeks later, I had a letter from Jana. I could just picture it: Jana, Esther and Abas, all steaming. Music blaring. Every light in the house blazing. Simone coming back from her country-house early, stomping round switching off the lights, calling Jana a slut for seducing her son. Abas hiding in his room.
I had a lump in my throat. Maybe I’d be able to go back after Easter.
Brian phoned on Palm Sunday – he got someone to dial for him, he could read and write but numbers confused him – to say he’d lit a candle and said a prayer
