Come Back to Me

44

Each time Amy opened her eyes there were a million fluorescent pin pricks dancing upon the dirty white ceiling. At first she had thought they’d strapped her down, but apparently it was the bruises on her stomach that felt like a dead weight. Her shoulder was swathed in bandages and when she moved it produced a sharp shooting pain. The whole of her ached and ached, inside and out.

It was surprisingly easy not to think. Just to stare in front of her and let all conscious thought drift into the misty recesses of her brain. Now and then the fog cleared a little and then she cried, wretched, gasping sobs beyond her control.

Alex sometimes looked at her with a strange expression on his face. At one stage she had met his gaze to find him studying her like something that had dropped out of the sky and landed at his feet. She was searching for disgust in his eyes, but he was hiding it well.

She needed him. But not like this – him mute and staring out of the window. She needed him to find the right words, the ones she so desperately needed to hear, even though she herself had no idea what they were. She wanted to tell her mum and dad to go away half the time, but also to cling to them and try to disappear inside the cavern their arms made.

She needed them all. But not like this.

Her mother was soothing, helpful, but persistent, like those outback flies that wouldn’t give up until they had attached themselves to you. And Alex… Alex was distant and tense, full of latent rage that might only be assuaged by inflicting pain on someone. She could sense him trying to mentally move away from these surroundings, this reality. She couldn’t blame him for that; she was doing the same.

Her father, on the other hand, was quiet, anguish written on his face; and a growing frustration in his movements and his sharp words for anyone other than his child. His distress was like an invisible cord stretching across the room, drawing her to him. When he’d arrived, for the first time since it happened she had been comforted. She had realised with a shock that what she had been waiting to see on someone else’s face was not empathy but the companionship of unmitigated suffering.

He had refused to leave the hospital since they’d got there, though he told her mum to get rest. He’d barely said a word to Alex, who usually left when her mother did. A lot of the time when Amy was awake in the amber-lit hours her father was folded over in the chair beside her bed, snoring softly. But if she caught his eyes watching her, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think he did either.

When she thought of the person she had been just a few days ago, she felt like she was watching a film of another girl with plans and hopes and dreams. She spent most of the time now trying not to think, not to conjure up images she didn’t want to see, not to dwell on the future, when she couldn’t possibly imagine how she would ever get beyond this point. For the rest of her life she would be a girl who had been raped. She didn’t want to be that girl. She wanted to tear off her skin and climb out from beneath the bloodied mess of it and run away. She didn’t want Alex to see her like this. Defiled. She wanted him to tell her it was all a lie, all just a nightmare, but every time he looked at her she saw in his eyes that the nightmare was real.

45

When Chloe had opened her eyes on the Sunday morning it was to a feeling of lightness: the events of the evening before suddenly looked a lot funnier. Sure, it was extremely embarrassing – and despite her desire not to replay it, it seemed her mind had a will of its own and kept doing so anyway – but it wasn’t the end of the world.

When she’d turned over she was surprised to find an empty space beside her. She’d hurried into the corridor and checked the bathroom, lounge and kitchen, but Mark, it seemed, had gone.

She hadn’t heard from him for the rest of the day, but felt it was really up to him to make the first move after sneaking off like that.

When she’d got to the office the following day, she’d seen that Mark was in his room, his head bent over his work. She went and put her things down and tried to get on with her own tasks, but it was no good. Eventually she gave in and went to see him.

‘Hello?’ she said, standing in the doorway.

Mark looked up. ‘Hello,’ he replied with a formal smile.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Of course.’

‘You left pretty quietly yesterday.’

‘I know. I had things to do.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Silence.

Chloe felt a bit light-headed. ‘Are you still on for Saturday?’ she asked.

Mark looked up quizzically.

‘The family do,’ she reminded him. ‘I’ve told everyone you’re coming,’ she added, although it was untrue, but she felt she needed to use some coercion.

‘Oh, that. Sure.’ Mark gave her a quick smile. ‘Just let me know when we need to leave. I’m quite busy this week, so I might not see you much before then.’

‘Okay,’ Chloe said. She knew a brush-off when she heard one. She went back to her own room, trying to dispel the tears that threatened. He was treating her as if she’d been the one who’d disgraced them, whereas they both knew he’d been the main culprit.

The rest of the week had dragged interminably. With the Christmas party over, everyone just wanted to get to the Christmas break. Ordinarily they would have shirked as much work as possible, but there was simply too much to do.

On the Thursday, Risto appeared at her office door, and asked if she could spare him some time. He sat down and they chatted about what they’d be working on in the New Year, about their Christmas plans, and the need for comfier furniture in the offices. By the time he left, Chloe felt considerably lighter in spirits. She was looking forward to having him around more, she decided, and there was no question that he’d been flirting with her quite openly throughout their conversation. Her mind went to Mark working hard in the next-door office, then she pushed the thought away. Mark had hardly spoken to her since the weekend, and a little flirting was hardly a crime, was it?

As she shrugged off her niggling anxiety, Mark appeared at the door, as if she’d conjured him up. He didn’t bother to knock.

‘David wants to see us,’ he said, his face grim.

‘Oh?’ Chloe’s stomach sank but she tried not to show it.

‘Now,’ Mark added, indicating with a flick of his head that she should come with him.

Chloe jumped up, smoothed her suit down, and felt her hair to check it was in place. Her mouth was dry. Surely this wasn’t about the weekend – they couldn’t sack her for watching Mark topple into a drum kit, could they?

As they reached David’s office her alarm grew. She saw Neil was in there as well, and that neither man looked happy.

‘Come in, you two, and close the door,’ David said, indicating that they should both sit down.

Chloe glanced at Mark. He sat rigidly on the chair next to her, looking grimly past David towards the window.

‘Neil and I thought we should discuss the events of last Saturday,’ David began, forgoing preamble.

Chloe’s insides began to curl up in shame.

Mark cleared his throat. ‘Before you go on, I would like to say that it wasn’t Chloe’s fault in any way. I accept responsibility entirely. I’d had too much to drink and I behaved like an idiot. It will never happen again.’

‘Mark -’ Chloe began, thinking that she should at least support him, take some culpability onto her own