Why did I torture myself like this? Maybe because today, the anniversary, was so significant and the voice sounded so familiar. A voice that would forever stay that way in my mind because it never had a chance to evolve and change and grow. As I conjured up an image in my mind, the child appeared in the garden. A fleeting moment. He or she? I couldn’t quite tell.
Their hair was a shock of untameable brown curls, much like the ones I had tried to train, but to no avail. Yet there were those curls again, floating past me, as if time had rewound. The child seemed to coast past in slow motion, their feet just on the patio, heading for the patch of grass.
Then suddenly, I saw a flash of blonde hair. A hand stretched out and grabbed the child’s arm. The child threw their head back in protest. The innocent calls of, ‘Mama,’ turned to a blood-curdling yell as they were dragged backwards and out of my sight. I heard a door slam so hard it ricocheted around my chest, and all I was left with was the echo of the child’s screams.
As I stood on the stepladder, the scream continued, but became fainter as though they were falling, falling, falling…
My foot became air as I struggled to find somewhere to place it. Before I knew where I was, I was looking up at the sky with my leg twisted backwards and a sharp pain resonating from my ankle to my waist.
‘Regi, are you okay?’ I turned my head to my right and Karen, my other house mate, was standing over me inquisitively, yet without too much concern in her tone or her face. She always had such a serious aura about her from the way she dressed, always blue skinny jeans and long-sleeve T-shirts, to the way she wore her hair tied back so tightly in a neat, sleek ponytail, it seemed to pull the skin up from around her eyes.
‘I think so.’ I looked up at the stepladder. I had slipped just three steps. I could feel tenderness on my shin where I knew a large bruise would form later.
‘Well, okay, then let’s get you up.’ She reached out her hand, which I ignored, pushing myself up instead. I went to put the weight on both legs and pain shot through my ankle. I sucked in my breath through my teeth.
‘Right, erm, okay. Let’s get you sat down, shall we?’ Karen said uneasily and looked impatiently around before grabbing the lounger I had been sat on when I fell asleep. I watched as she awkwardly manoeuvred it over to me, its weighty legs protesting against the overgrown grass. After painfully observing her efforts, I refrained from telling her I could have walked to it quicker.
‘I see you’ve started on the summerhouse.’ Karen took out a tissue and blew her nose. ‘Bloody hay fever.’ She wiped her nose and shoved the tissue into the back pocket of her jeans. I turned to look at the array of furniture scattered on the lawn.
‘Yes, I was, and then I kind of got distracted.’ I sat down.
‘Spying on the neighbours?’ she said as though it was the kind of thing she expected from me.
‘Just. Interested.’ I scuffed at the grass with my healthy foot.
‘Well, their gardens aren’t nearly as good as ours,’ she said.
‘Do you know much about the neighbours then?’ I tried to sound nonchalant.
Karen shook her head. ‘Not really, I’ve lived here for a year almost and I haven’t met anyone yet.’ She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, then let out a huge sneeze. Another tissue was ripped from a packet. ‘Speaking from experience, I also think it’s quite possible to live next door to someone and never ever see them.’ Karen dabbed her nose and pushed the wet tissue into her back pocket with the other one.
‘So have you ever seen the neighbours on this side? Did you know they have a child?’
‘I’ve never seen a child. This street is mainly professionals and students, not very family friendly. I only know that information from Mini’s uncle. He rents out about six houses on this street.’
‘Right.’ I remembered them all telling me this when I came to look at the house. I scratched my neck and looked around at the furniture scattered around on the grass. ‘I’ll ring the charity shop to see if they can come and pick any of this up.’
‘Good idea. Fancy a brew?’ Karen began walking back to the house.
‘Yes, great.’
I hobbled through to the kitchen and Karen presented me with a nettle tea at the kitchen table. I had stopped drinking real, caffeinated tea and coffee years ago, believing that caffeine was the source of my insomnia. It took me many more therapy sessions before it was revealed to me that because my mind was in hyper-vigilant mode in the day, by night my brain was reminding me it wasn’t safe to sleep.
‘Shit, we’re out of milk,’ Karen said and went to head out of the kitchen door.
‘It’s okay, I’ll go.’ I stood up to test the pressure on my ankle. The pain had begun to subside.
‘No, stay, it’s for my coffee – you’ve just got your tea.’
I needed to walk; the shock and stress of the fall and the child’s voice and that image of the mother, or whoever it was, pulling them back with such force meant I could not relax. I needed to do something or I wouldn’t rest. Karen looked perturbed as she followed me into the hallway, where
