This corridor is pockmarked by spots of absolute darkness. It’s lit by far-flung gas lamps and these flicker as I pass by, heading deeper under the surface. It’s no different from the many different routes I’ve taken this morning; each one is just as dingy, just as repetitive, just as obscure. The floor is damp and my feet are caked in mud, and each step sends dirt flying up in a cloud around my ankles.
‘P? P? It’s Jimmy.’
Now I need the loo. I hate it when I need it down here, because there are no toilets. I have to wet myself, and the urine is only warm at first. Then it chills quickly, sending sharp stalactites down to my ankles.
‘P. I’ve got something for you.’
There are no beds down here either, but I find I can manage to doze off standing up, resting against the curved walls.
‘P. Please open your eyes. I know you’re not asleep. I have something I hope you’ll like.’
I will do it for him. Only him. Even though I am disgusting and deformed, the opposite of all beauty. He’s only nice to me out of pity.
I open my eyes slowly, not wanting to let the world back in too quickly, because this world is not what I thought it was. It’s far crueller than that.
‘Ah, there you are. Hello P. Look at this. This is for you.’
He’s holding what looks like an iPad in front of my face. It’s got several pictures on it; there is a cake, a chocolate bar and an ice cream.
‘This is an eye-gaze screen, P. If you look at something, it should light up. Come on, have a go.’
Jimmy is looking at me through his beautiful eyelashes and he seems so keen. Who am I to say no to him? And things can’t get any worse, anyway, can they? I open my eyes a little wider and decide to look at the ice cream. After all, there’s been a bloody heatwave for most of this summer. I am sweating like a pig.
There’s a loud ping, like one of those sounds you get when someone receives a text message.
‘That was the ice cream. Did you choose the ice cream, P?’
A strange sound escapes from my mouth. I swear I didn’t make it, but it sounds like ‘Arrrrrrrr.’
‘OK, OK. Right. Let’s try this one.’
There are now three pictures. One is a glass of what looks like milk, the other is a bed, and the final one is a toilet. And that is just what I need, as I realise that I’m about to wet myself. I stare fixedly at the toilet.
‘Do you need the loo, P?’
‘Arrrrrrrr.’
‘Just a minute, P. Magda!’ he shouts. ‘I need you to take Patience to the bathroom.’
*
I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but Mum, Dad and Eliza have all decided to pay me a visit this evening and they’ve brought ice cream with them. It’s chocolate flavour, and there are chocolate flakes, too, but they don’t give me one. In case I choke, of course.
I suppose it’s time I owned up to a couple of things.
Firstly, I think I can bend my fingers. Wilfully, I mean. I’ve been practising at night when no one’s looking (I don’t want to freak them out – they’ve hospitalised me for less), and I’ve managed to get my hands to do my bidding a few times now. I thought it was a fluke the first time, but as I say, I’ve replicated it, so it must be real, right? I can scratch myself. I can even draw blood with my nails if I want.
The other thing is my tongue. For years, it’s sat in my mouth like a slab of spam, unable to manipulate food properly, causing me to nearly choke to death several times. Now, though, it seems to be more mobile and it’s responding when I try to move it to one side, or up and down. This is easier to do with no one watching – I don’t want them panicking, see above – and I’m getting good at it. I’ve noticed, too, that if I exhale, I can make all sorts of different noises with it, which is fun to do. It’s not quite working as well as it used to do in my internal world, but perhaps that was unrealistic?
I haven’t shown them my new tongue control yet; it’s sort of like having a hidden superpower. But I think perhaps seeing me eat ice cream has given me away; they watch me silently as I roll it around in my mouth, savouring its taste and texture, before swallowing it on my first attempt.
Jimmy has been showing Mum how to use the machine with the pictures on it. She’s choosing some stuff to try now. When she’s satisfied, she turns it round towards me and presents with me two pictures. One is Take That, and one is Kylie. This is an easy choice.
‘Ha, Take That, I should have known,’ replies Mum, wittering away delightedly, her mind already on the next choice she wants to put to me.
‘Why don’t we try words?’ suggests Jimmy. ‘We could read them out to her maybe?’
Dad raises his eyebrows, but Jimmy is undeterred. He takes the machine from Mum and selects a few options.
On the screen, there are the words, ‘I feel’.
‘Those words are “I feel”,’ says Jimmy.
Yes, I know that, you div.
‘And then these words beneath are: tired, hungry, thirsty, sad, happy. Can you see those?’
I can. I have learned to read a bit over the years. I’ve had a lot of time to piece things together.
‘OK, so take a look at them all and then stop at the one you feel like,’ he tells me. Behind him, I can see Mum, Dad and Eliza leaning over in my direction, all of them apparently holding their breath.
I think for a moment. I am a bit tired, but I don’t want to go to bed. I’m not thirsty, and for the first time in weeks I don’t feel really sad. That might be the medicine they’re giving me in the mornings now, but it might also be this little machine and the incredible gateway it has just opened. It makes me feel a bit… free.
I choose hungry.
‘Hungry? OK. Take a look at these options.’
I now see a selection of foods. I choose the one that appears to be chocolate.
‘Chocolate? OK. Right. And these?’
There is chocolate milk, chocolate cake, and a chocolate bar. Obviously, I choose the latter.
‘You want a flake, darling?’ says Mum, suddenly getting it. ‘Pete, quick, for heaven’s sake, get her out a flake.’
And I laugh.
And then the whole room laughs with me.