2 November

MONSTER MOTHER HAS given birth to some of the worst beings, yet each and every one is her offspring. She has responsibility for them all, good or bad. The Day of the Dead is here – All Souls’ Day – the day when the souls of the departed come back to visit their loved ones. It is a time of turmoil for Monster Mother. She is pulled to and fro by the voices of her departed children.

Dressing is a particularly confusing problem. How can she put a colour to a day which is so varied – so striped with good and bad – peppered with sadness and happiness? She has the overhead light on as she goes through her wardrobe, choosing what to wear. The curtains are closed – the spirits are all out there, wanting to be let in – zipping back and forth outside the window. She doesn’t dare look yet – if she does, her head will be pulled from one side to the other, so fast it will come loose from her neck.

Her missing arm has a spirit – a spirit that is dark pink. Crimson. Like the sex and the anger that made her cut it away. So for her dead arm she chooses crimson shoes. Pauline, poor Pauline – her spirit is so thin it can’t be heard above the others. She is the pale, leached-out yellow of the camisole that Monster Mother chooses. Zelda was a bad girl – so bad and so alive – she was a firecracker and the red headband at the back of the wardrobe is for her.

Next to consider is Ms Arrow. The Maude.

What colour for her? She is patchwork, light on dark. When she was happy the hospital was a safe place. When she was unhappy, The Maude slid along the corridors. Found ways through locked doors in the dark. Goosebumps pop along Monster Mother’s arms just thinking about The Maude. The greed and the anger, the cleverness. Melanie Arrow is gone from the hospital – but her anger, her power and her need reach out from the police cell like radio waves and search for Monster Mother. She plucks out a pair of gloves. They are of a purple velvet that appears almost black in some lights. From other angles it’s a radiant violet. As pretty and deceptive as deadly nightshade.

Lastly she chooses her skirt. It takes some time, because the skirt represents Isaac and Isaac is so many things. So so many things. So clever and so sad. So unpredictable.

The skirt she chooses is flesh-coloured crepe under a white net into which have been stitched a million silver sequins. Isaac was the colour of nothing – no one noticed him. But for those who saw him in the right way he was also a million points of light. From the moment he was discharged from the hospital, Monster Mother knew he’d be the one to deliver justice to Melanie Arrow.

She holds the skirt up to her face, the sequins rough nubbles on her skin. Isaac is dead but he isn’t gone. He isn’t finished. He is clever and he is a universe of stars.

She slips the clothes on. And when she is quite sure she is ready she opens the curtains. The spirits see her and they are cowed. They bow, lamb-like. They sit obediently on the grass. She smiles at them, blows kisses to some, shoots fond but warning looks at others.

‘Gabriella?’

She startles. Someone is knocking at the door. Lately there have been strange people in the hospital, asking questions. Making notes. People she doesn’t recognize, all wearing suits, carrying clipboards. She doesn’t want one in here. She searches the room for a place to scuttle to.

‘Gabriella? It’s me – it’s AJ. Can I come in?’

AJ. The finest of her children. She relaxes. She floats to the door and opens it. There he stands. She loves him so.

‘Dear AJ,’ she says. ‘Dear son.’

‘I’m knocking off shift now, Gabriella. Thought I’d come in and say . . .’ He trails off, taking in her clothes. ‘Nice. You look . . . nice. Are you OK?’

‘Yes. I am, thank you. And I am here – inside my skin.’ She smiles. ‘Today is an important day. Today is the day I care for my children. And you, AJ? You need caring for. I can see.’

‘Do I?’

‘You do. No one else knows, but I do. I know you so well, I gave birth to you, and I know. There’s a hole in you now. A giant hole and you think it can’t be filled.’

AJ lowers his head and touches a finger to his forehead. ‘I’ll be going,’ he says, his voice tight. He turns hurriedly for the door. ‘Have a lovely day, Gabriella, you look wonderful.’

‘AJ?’

‘What?’

‘Be careful, AJ. Be careful. We all love you.’