The Nurse (6 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Alice - Twenty years ago

Pulling some more of the boxes away, I finally set eyes on the piano in the corner of the room. I have to admit, I feel a faint shudder, since it's been so long since I sat down and played. Maybe I should just forget this whole idea and push the boxes back into place, but I can't help myself.

Taking a seat, I lift the lid and stare down at the keys for a moment.

“You're good at this,” I remember my mother telling me once. “You should keep practicing and see where your talent takes you.”

I play a few notes, although I don't dare make too much noise.

“We could send her to a proper teacher,” I once overheard my mother suggesting to my father, when I was no more than five or six years old. “Give her a chance to really develop her skills.”

“I'm not paying for piano lessons,” he replied, and that was the end of the discussion. He was always in control of the family finances, and I don't think he's ever changed his mind about anything. He's never admitted he's wrong, either. My mother knew better than to argue with him.

Humming to myself, I start playing a short melody that I remember my mother teaching me. Somehow, the simple act of pressing the keys down is enough to make me feel much calmer. For a few seconds, it's almost as if I'm transported away from the house, and all the stress starts lifting from my shoulders. I swear, Father could be screaming his lungs out right now, and I wouldn't hear him at all.

“Are you going to be okay tomorrow?”

“Sorry,” I stammer, pulling my hands away from the piano. “I was just -”

“Relax,” he says with a smile, as I close the lid and get to my feet. “I was wondering where that thing had gotten to. Do you still play to relax? I have a vague memory of you being pretty good when we were kids.”

“I was just being silly,” I tell him, already pushing the boxes back into place. “It's a terrible waste of time, really.”

“So what about tomorrow?”

I flinch. “What about it?”

“The review board delivers its findings into Anthony Harper's death. Depending on how that goes...” He pauses. “I mean, there's a chance that there could be findings, perhaps a lawsuit or -”

“I can't change anything.”

“No, but you've been living with this thing hanging over your head for almost a year. It's been chipping away at you, day by day, and now it's finally here. Anyone would start to crack under all that pressure, but -”

“I've been too busy looking after Father.”

A flicker of a smile crosses his face. “You're doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The squinting thing.”

Realizing that he's right, I force myself to stop blinking so hard and so fast. “What will be, will be,” I tell him. “Whatever happens tomorrow is out of my control now. And if you think that I need a hospital review board to tell me whether I'm guilty of making that mistake, then perhaps you don't know me so very well after all.”

“Do you want me to see if I can get some time off? Maybe I could come with you tomorrow and -”

I shake my head. “No.”

“You want to go alone?”

“Father seems to be doing well, don't you think?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Or he's stable, at least.”

“He should be in the hospital. I want to run his blood, I want to do some scans, get a tube down him and -”

I shake my head again. “He doesn't want that.”

“Only because he thinks he can rely on you.”

“He
can
rely on me.”

“Until you break.”

“Nonsense, I -”

“He won't show you any mercy, you know,” he continues, interrupting me. “He's not gonna look at you one day, see how tired you are, and realize he's being too much of a burden. If he was ever going to do that, it would've already happened by now. He'll just keep demanding more and more, and if you're finding it hard now, wait until he gets sicker.” He pauses, watching me carefully, as if he's waiting for more cracks to show. “You know I'd come more often if I could, right?”

I nod.

“It's just, with Judy and the kids -”

“You don't have to explain yourself.”

“You'll understand when you have a family of your own.”

I shake my head.

“You're gonna make a great mother one day,” he continues. “Alice -”

“Let's not talk about it,” I reply, interrupting him. “I really don't have time to think about such things. I'm sure you'll understand.”

“But Alice...”

He pauses again, and a moment later there's a bump from upstairs.

“Sounds like you're wanted,” he points out. “He was complaining that his bag was full again. I told him I could change it, but he insisted on you doing it instead. Apparently that's a job for a nurse, not a doctor.”

“Then I should go,” I reply, heading to the hallway. “He doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

“I'll be back in two weeks,” Malcolm continues. “Judy and I are taking the kids to a holiday camp next week, just so we can all relax and get away from the stress for a while. I'll have my phone with me, though.”

“I hope you enjoy yourselves,” I tell him, already making my way up the stairs.

“You don't really see the kid, do you?”

I stop and look back at him.

There's a nervous smile on hi face now. “I mean... The old man's kidding, right?”

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm honestly not sure what to say.

“You
don't
see him...” he continues. “I mean... Do you? 'Cause that'd be...”

He pauses.

“That'd be crazy,” he adds finally.

“You should get home,” I reply, hoping to skirt around the subject. “I'm sure Judy and the children are waiting for you. Please, give them my best.”

He nods. I can tell he's not entirely satisfied, but he probably doesn't want to probe too much.

Forcing I smile, I turn and make my way up the stairs. When I get to the top, I hear the front door opening and then swinging shut, and I spot Malcolm walking away from the house. I know I shouldn't be annoyed that he has a happy family life, but sometimes I think he doesn't understand what it's really like living here with Father.

Heading through to the main bedroom, I find Father already trying to disconnect his own colostomy bag.

“Let me do that,” I tell him, hurrying over only to see that the bag is already partly loose, and that its contents are now leaking onto the bed.

“It's a mess!” he splutters. “You should have come sooner!”

“I was talking to -”

“I don't give a crap! You should have come up to me sooner!”

Taking hold of the bag, I carefully slide it away from the connector. There's fecal matter running down Father's belly and onto the sheets, and the smell is already very strong.

“I'll just -”

Suddenly he grabs my hand and twists my little finger back until it hurts.

“I heard you!” he hisses, leaning toward me. “Do you think I'm deaf? I heard you on that piano downstairs!”

“I was only -”

I let out a sudden cry as he pulls my finger back further. I want to twist free, but his trembling hands are holding me tight.

“Don't let me hear you doing that again!” he says firmly, spitting out the words. “Do you understand? In fact, I want you to call and arrange to have that thing taken away! The last thing I need, sitting up here all alone and ignored, is to hear your shitty attempts to play music. You were no good as a kid, and you're no good now! If I ever hear even one more note...”

He pauses, staring at me with angry, bloodshot yellow eyes.

“If I hear one more note,” he continues, “I'll break your other little finger too.”

I open my mouth to ask what he means.

Suddenly he pulls my finger back further, and I feel a quick, agonizing snapping sensation. Gasping, I pull away and drop down onto the floor, clutching my hand as I feel a throbbing pain starting to pulse through my little finger. I don't think he broke it, but it's certainly fractured and the pain is getting worse with each passing second.

“Are you just going to leave me sitting here like this?” he asks. “It's disgusting! Don't you have any respect, woman?”

Turning, I see the moist, bright red hole in his belly waiting for a new bag to be attached. There are tears in my eyes, but I force myself to stay calm. Ignoring the pain in my finger, I pick up the old bag and carry it around to the bin on the other side of the bed. My hands are shaking, but I don't want to let him see that I'm in pain. For the next few minutes, I work quickly but carefully to clean up the mess and attach a new bag, and I ignore the barbs and insults that he flings my way. He's in pain, I know that, and it's not his fault that he lashes out. I knew he'd be angry if he heard me playing the piano, so why did I do such a thing? I can only think that I had a moment of weakness.

***

Later, once I've finished all my chores for the day and Father is asleep, and once I've examined my little finger and determined that the fracture isn't too bad, I sit at the piano once again.

I don't dare play, of course, but I move my hands across the keys, taking care to ensure that I don't actually hit any notes. I simply imagine the music, until finally I close the lid and sit back.

This is foolish. The piano must never be played again. Even if it's the only thing that helps me ignore the little boy's presence.

Chapter Seventeen

Rachel - Today

Once Mum has headed off for another night shift, it takes ages for me to make my way downstairs, but finally I manage to find the front room and I fumble to the far corner. She'd go absolutely crazy if she knew I was up and about like this, but it's not like she'll ever find out. I'll be tucked up in bed by the time she gets back in the morning, like a good girl.

Taking a seat on the stool, I reach out and place my fingers on the keys of the piano.

The house is silent.

As soon as I start playing, I somehow feel more relaxed. I've never been much of a music person, not until today, but suddenly it's as if the idea of playing this piano is all I can think about. At least this is something I can still do, even without my sight, and I figure it's better than sitting around doing absolutely nothing. I know the idea of a blind pianist is a bit of a cliché, but I guess cliches are sometimes cliches because they're true. And to be fair, even though there's a danger that I might be getting ahead of myself, I feel like I'm actually quite a natural as I pick out a very simple, very basic tune.

For the first time since I lost my sight, I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile. I just wish I understood why Mum is so against the whole -

Suddenly I hear a loud bump from upstairs.

I stop and look toward the ceiling, although I still can't see anything. I wait, listening as silence settles again, but I know I heard that noise. There was a short but firm bumping sound, as if someone hit the floor in the room above.

Maybe something fell.

Taking a deep breath, I move my fingers a little on the keys and then I start playing again.

After just a couple of seconds, the bump returns, this time sounding more insistent.

I pause again, but the house is now quiet once more. Still, it's almost as if every time I start playing the piano, something upstairs gets pissed off.

“Good job I don't believe in ghosts,” I whisper to myself, although I hesitate before starting to play again. This time, I manage to get six whole notes out before the bump returns.

Stopping again, I sit in silence for a moment, feeling a cold shiver passing across my shoulders. I don't believe in ghosts, I never have and I never will, but I can't deny that the bumps are getting a little creepy. I want to play again, but instead I get to my feet, figuring that I might as well go take a look and figure out what the hell is causing all the noise. Turning carefully, I start making my way across the room, shuffling at a snail's pace.

Just as I reach the doorway that leads into the hall, I hear a faint rustling sound over my shoulder. I turn, but of course I can't see anything. Old habits die hard. Still, it was almost as if someone is outside, maybe in the garden, maybe watching me through a window.

I stay completely still for a moment, before turning and shuffling out into the hall. Reaching up, I hold my hands high above my head until I feel my fingers bumping against the lampshade hanging down from the ceiling, and sure enough I can feel the bulb's heat.

Mum left the lights on for me when she went out.

It takes a couple of minutes for me to locate and climb the stairs, but finally I get to the landing and I start fumbling my way toward Mum's bedroom, which is where the bumping sound seemed to be coming from. I know I shouldn't be so nosy, but I figure I can't really be accused of snooping if I'm blind, so when I reach her door I immediately turn the handle and step through into what I assume must be the house's main bedroom.

Beneath my feet, a floorboard creaks loudly.

Stopping, I listen in case any other noises break the silence of the house, but all I hear now is the sound of my own breath.

“Hello?” I call out, even though I feel pretty dumb. “Are there any piano-hating ghosts up here? Any -”

Suddenly I feel the hairs moving on the back of my neck, as if someone breathed on me.

I turn and reach out, but there's no-one there. Figuring that I simply overreacted to a breeze, I touch the back of my neck and try to remind myself that there's really nobody in the house with me.

“In case you hadn't noticed,” I say out loud, “I'm blind. So I guess that makes it pretty hard to haunt me, huh? I mean, creaks and bumps in the night are kind of creepy, but it's not like you can do much more.”

I wait.

Silence.

Taking a deep breath, I step cautiously into the bedroom, with my hands outstretched so that I don't slam into anything. I make my way across the room until finally I bump against the edge of a bed, and then I carefully lower myself and sit down. The bed creaks beneath me, and when I reach over and feel the far end, I realize that it's an old bed with some kind of iron frame. I guess it was left behind by the previous occupants, which means someone else once slept right here, where Mum sleeps every night.

Shuffling along the bed, I reach the wall and feel carefully for the nightstand. After a moment, however, my hands brush against something wooden that has been left leaning against the wall, and I quickly realize that I've found some kind of wooden cane, the kind that old people use. I pick the cane up and run my hands all along the shaft until I feel the bottom, where the rubber tip has been removed to expose the hard wooden end.

A shudder passes through my chest as I consider the possibilities, but finally I hit the cane's tip against the floorboards.

That sure sounds like the bump I heard when I was downstairs.

“Okay,” I mutter, trying not to let my imagination run wild, “that's definitely
slightly
creepy.”

I bang the floor again, briefly breaking the silence of the house.

“What would Mum want with a cane, anyway?” I whisper. I mean, I know the house was fully furnished when we moved in, but it's hard to believe that someone left an old cane behind. And even if they did, why the hell would Mum just let it stand next to her bed like this?

I hold the cane for a moment longer, before carefully resting it back against the wall. I figure I need to ask Mum what's going on, but I should pick my moment and I don't want her to realize that I've been rooting about in her room. After all, she's always been a very private person, and she's never really told me very much about her life before I was born.

But if she wants to keep some random cane next to her bed, I guess it's a free country.

Getting to my feet, I hold my hands out in front of me as I shuffle back toward the door. The last thing I need is to bump into the wall, so I walk very carefully and very slowly, with my hands out ahead. At least the house is silent now, and I figure I can go back downstairs and play some more. Whatever's causing the banging sound, it's not like I'm equipped to figure it out properly, but that doesn't mean I'm going to assume it's a ghost. I'll just -

Suddenly I let out a gasp of shock as my outstretched hands touch the cold face of a child.