CHAPTER THIRTEEN

October 13th

‘You’ll be all right then? I’ll come back at lunchtime, and stay with you then. So I’ll be here when you’re having the anaesthetic, and everything – afterwards. Please let me phone your mum again.’

‘No, Dad. I don’t want her.’

Dad sighed heavily. ‘Becky can come over, if you want. After school? Yes? I’m really sorry I can’t wait with you all morning. But the nurse is lovely, isn’t she? Noreen. You’ve got your book to read?’

‘Yes, Dad. It’s OK. Just go.’

He leaned over to give her a kiss, but she turned her head away and he just touched her hair instead.

She bit hard on her lip. No tears. She had the whole morning to get through now. They’d said she had to be here in Day Surgery at eight thirty, but then the ward nurse had come round and said she wasn’t on the list till the afternoon. But she still had to get undressed and was supposed to lie on the bed, because the doctor would be round and he mustn’t be kept waiting. So there was a whole morning to get through, and Dad had decided to go into work so he could take the afternoon off instead, and be there for her.

Mum had tried to talk to her on the phone Wednesday evening. Mia had listened to Dad’s low tones, his quiet explanations. She could imagine Mum’s shocked reaction on the other end. By the time she spoke to Mia, she sounded calm. ‘Would you like me to come now?… Before?… You are sure about this, Mia?… I know I’ve no right to say anything about it. It’s your decision… You poor, poor thing.’ But Mia hadn’t wanted to talk. Said she didn’t want her to come anyway. Dad was here, and Becky. She was all right.

For a brief second Mia wished she’d said, Yes, please come. I need you. I’m scared and all by myself.

But that wasn’t true, was it? She was not by herself at all. Not yet. Not for a few hours longer. Little bean.

‘All right, dear?’ The nurse perched on the side of the bed, next to where Mia sat in the upright green chair.

‘Is there anything you want to ask?’

Mia shook her head. Now she’d thought of little bean she couldn’t speak. She bit back the tears. On her lap she held the sheaf of pages explaining how to relax and calm yourself down which Noreen had brought her earlier. Her hands were trembling.

The nurse put her hand over Mia’s. ‘I’m sorry, love. It’s hard, isn’t it? A bit scary?’

Tears welled up. Mia couldn’t help it.

‘I’ll get you some tissues.’

Mia watched her walk between the rows of beds. In this half of the ward most of them were empty. There were a couple of older women in the beds near hers. They’d drawn the curtains round. One had a man with her, and the other, another woman. Her sister, maybe. That woman had asked the nurse where she could have a cigarette and the nurse had said she couldn’t: ‘Not till afterwards. If you must!’

The nurse came back with a box of tissues and left them on the bedside cabinet.

‘The anaesthetist’s arrived to do the ward round, love, so I have to go. Sorry I can’t stay with you. I’ll see you later. OK? What are you reading?’

Mia showed her the cover. Tess of the D’Urbervilles.

The nurse laughed. ‘Bit heavy for me! I’m not brainy like you.’

‘I’m not either. My dad gave it to me. Don’t suppose I’ll read it anyway.’

She put it back on the locker.

‘Don’t forget about getting your nightie on, love. And pop yourself on the bed. Doctor’s round next.’

Mia didn’t see what difference it made. All this scurrying around for the doctors. She wasn’t getting undressed until the last minute. The minute you put on your night things you felt different. Sort of defenceless. She didn’t own a nightie, anyway; she’d just brought a big T-shirt.

Mia’s hands cupped protectively over her stomach. It was still flat. You’d never guess. Fleetingly she let herself wonder how long it would have been before it began to show. But some girls went for months, not knowing. Right up till the last minute. There were stories about it in the newspapers. Teenage girls thinking they had stomach cramp and the next minute they were giving birth.

Birth.

She wouldn’t think about it.

Just a few cells. A blob, like Becky said.

Little bean.

No. No. Don’t think. Watch the ward. Pick up the book. Footsteps. Look up…

The anaesthetist was a young man with an Australian accent. He smiled at Mia. He looked like he’d just stepped off a surfing beach, except for the white coat. He had undone it so it flapped open. He had blue shorts on underneath and tanned legs. He started to explain to her what would happen, and then he asked her a whole load of questions. ‘Had she had an anaesthetic before?… Any allergic reactions?’

His voice was kind, like the nurse. Mia could feel the tears welling up again inside her.

‘So I’ll be looking after you all the time. But it’s very quick. Only about five minutes and then it’s all over.’

She stared at him. She’d been feeling so helpless and blank before, but now she felt something suddenly shift inside her. His words ran up and down her body and made her flesh prickle. Then it’s all over. All over.

At the window a pigeon stared at her with its beady eye. It fluffed up its feathers and Mia saw how the grey was shot through with bright green, purple, silver. It spread out its wings, preened, shook and then took off. She could hear the wing beats, the whirr of feathers in flight.

‘Are you all right? You are sure about this?’ The anaesthetist sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked right at her. His eyes were very blue.

He spoke very quietly. So quietly, she wasn’t sure afterwards whether he’d actually said the words aloud at all. Perhaps they had been her words, inside her.

‘You know you can change your mind at any moment? Even right up to the point where we wheel you in for the anaesthetic? It happens, you know. People do change their minds.’

Mia stared at him. The tears began to drip down her face again.

He patted her hand, and then he stood up and moved away, on to the next patient. She heard him talking to the woman behind the curtain. They laughed at some shared joke.

Mia watched him go back down the ward, his shoes squeaking softly on the lino. The pigeon was back on the window ledge. She heard it cooing gently. It preened its feathers for a while and then stared right in at her through the smeared window pane, cocked its head slightly as if to get a better look.

It’s a sign. If it flies off it’s a sign. The bird spread each wing, closed them again. Then it spread them again, launched off the ledge and flew up into the pale blue sky. There! She knew with sudden clarity what she must do.

The other beds still had the curtains drawn round. She stood up and tugged the horrible flowery curtains along the rail around her own bed. She found her washbag and T-shirt and purse in the locker, and stuffed them with her fleece jacket into the canvas bag she’d brought with her. She slipped her trainers back on. Then she looked at the time. Nine thirty-five.

The nurse, Noreen, was in the other half of the ward, getting the first people ready for theatre. ‘It’s a mixed ward for day surgery,’ she’d told Mia. ‘Everyone’s here for different operations. No one will know what you’re here for.’ Between the two halves of the big airy ward were the loos, and the double doors into the hospital corridor. Easy. If Noreen saw her she’d assume she was going to the loo.

But Noreen didn’t even notice her. Mia walked quietly past the curtained beds, out into the lobby and then through the double doors into the corridor. She kept walking down the long corridor, past the sets of doors opening off on either side, making straight for the exit. It only took a few minutes. Then she pushed the door open and she was outside in the pale sunshine of the hospital car park. She kept going. Across the car park, down the road, through the big gates on to the main road. Free.