A SHADE TOO YOUNG
Wendy Maddocks
©2012 by Wendy Maddocks
Other works by Wendy Maddocks
Stand alone novels
Twisted evil
Into the darkness
Short story collections
The thrill of the Chase
A Shade too young
The Shades of Northwood series
Running shoes
Circle of arms
Unfinished business
Kiss at midnight
Circle of the Fallen series
Angels of America
Poetry collections
When I was young
Before the dawn
Screenplays
RISK
Non-fiction
Student: dazed and confused
FREEZE FRAME
A baby boy is born on the bathroom floor, in a cubicle, by the toilet. The mother hopes it will never breathe. The baby is silent and still, and she heaves a sigh of relief. She opens the door, straightens her skirt as though nothing has happened, and casually steps out. But –
FREEZE FRAME
- there is something wrong with this picture. The mother, who prays her baby will never cry, is slim and tanned and wearing her black and red school uniform. There is a gaggle of four or five girl preening themselves at the mirrors. She looks at them wistfully from the door and wonders if she can ever be part of that life again. Look at them with their lipsticks, hairbrushes and sneaky cigarettes – hope none of them ever has to wish their newborn baby dead.
She pushes her hands through her hair and reaches for the door, trying not to think about what she is leaving behind. Her childhood, her motherhood… The door swings open behind her and she steps into another world. The innocent school world she can no longer be part of. But –
FREEZE FRAME
- she is not stepping into the corridor on the way to Biology. She is stumbling, drunk, out of the bathroom at some girls’ party. She shouldn’t be drunk – she’s not even fourteen yet – but those alcopops didn’t even taste like booze. There are boys and girls everywhere. She staggers down the hallway and finds an empty bedroom where she can lie down until the room stops spinning. Nothing much can happen in half an hour, right? A hand snakes in and flips the light out. Her eyes open wide in surprise and -
FREEZE FRAME
- the scene has changed. She finishes buttoning her shirt, sitting on the couch, and turns the light back on so the doctor can come back in. she doesn’t know what she’s doing here. She already knows the outcome. The child is to have a child of her own, but it’s not hers. Teenagers worry about make-up and clothes, not bottles and nappies.
Who’d have thought that a few bottles could lead to this? That was rhetorical. What can she do now? What about when the parents figure it out? It feels like time is fast-forwarding for her and the pause button is broken. She pushes herself to her feet and flees the room in a panic. Then
FREEZE FRAME
- she is back at school in her uniform. Her platform shoes echo everywhere as she runs back along the corridor and bursts through the door to the toilets. What has she done?
The same group of girls are gathered around the same mirror, but this time one of the girls is holding a scrunched up, whimpering baby. She couldn’t leave this behind. The girl holding the baby looks up at his mother.
“It’s not mine.”
FREEZE FRAME
AN ANGEL CRIES
1
I can remember everything perfectly like it only happened last night, not over a month ago. Sure some of the details have blurred a bit, but just little stuff. The important things are clear as day; the sounds, the smells, the order of things. It’s not true what they say about painful memories fading, becoming less vivid as time goes on. It gets worse as every day passes, becomes more real every minute.
I was at a party – one of my friends had just graduated from university. I went with my two best friends and my boyfriend – we share a student house and we got really close – and we went in my old jeep. I was the driver so I couldn’t really drink and stuff, but I was glad ‘cos I get all antsy when some-one else drives my baby. Anyway, it was a really good night – great pumping music (bit too much dancey pop for my taste, I have to admit), really good atmosphere, all matey like, and nothing dodgy with drugs. I had been worried about drugs, being a twenty-something crowd, and I didn’t want to get involved in that whole scene. So, I didn’t drink the whole night and stuck to Diet Coke, well I had half a Bud (disgusting stuff, lager) but that was at the start of the evening so it was all out of my bloodstream by the time the party wound down. I had this old rock anthem pounding through my head when we left and I was still humming it when we got into the jeep and drove down the road. It’s just one of those songs that you hear once and never forget, but it’s been my fave since I was about five. And it’s got these blistering solos in – it one that you just belt out at the top of your lungs and play air guitar to. I remember feeling a bit annoyed that they didn’t play it at the party but I don’t suppose it’s everybody’s cup of tea.
So, anyway, I was humming this song quietly to myself, while the other three were talking around me. I can’t really remember what it was about – exams, most likely – but I wasn’t in a talking mood. More in a talk-to-me-and-I’ll-find-a-shotgun-to-blow-your-head-off mood, but in a nice way. Tony, my boyfriend, was laughing at some stupid joke or other, so I looked at him, then frowned and ignored him. I was still a bit hyped up from the party, but it had also depressed me for some inexplicable reason. I saw a pair of headlights on the main road so I slowed down a bit to let them past. We were about to head up Northwood Chase, which is a pretty narrow road but great to speed down. I go there sometimes, just to drive and be alone and think. I did my college art project here and I aced it so it’s got good memories. I’m distracting myself again but at least this gives you a mental picture. You shouldn’t use the road if you’re not a good driver because it’s edged by this hedge, then there’s a sixty foot drop down a cliff – one wrong move and you’re people jam. So I was roaring along the Chase – no speed cameras, see, and you can usually hear any other cars and things. You get a lot of teenage boys racing motorbikes up here – they aren’t worried about the cliff, can’t see it, don’t care about it.
The flashing disco lights at the party were going round my head as well but ignored them. Tony said something to me, asked me a question like ‘Are you sure you should be going this fast along here?’ I looked at him out of one eye and was about to reply when Kath and Jon burst out laughing on the back seat so any answer would be lost anyway. But I kept one eye on him and almost didn’t see the swerving headlights ahead. They belonged to a van which was being driven, probably, by a drunken hi-jacker. No-one really noticed it and I didn’t register the danger until it was too late. The vehicle came into view going double my speed and swerving madly across the width of the road.
The van ploughed into the jeep before I had time to scream.
2
They say that you’re supposed to become more objective and clear-headed after a near-death experience like that. Supposed to count your blessings and look at each new day with the wonder of a child. So not like that. I’m the same old cynical, take everything for granted girl I always was. Life is life, you know. But it did teach me something – don’t try to understand everything that happens ‘cos you haven’t got the time. Like I’ll never know why the drunk driver who crashed into us had drunk so much, or why he was going so fast, or why the fates let him drive off without a scratch a minute later. I don’t want to know either.
“Tony!” I remember screaming his name once or twice.
He was mostly okay, cuts and broken bones, but I was terrified because I couldn’t see him properly. Then I must have passed out because it’s just a blank after that. Or maybe I put a mental block on it. I can’t really remember. I remember that it hurt for ages, then it didn’t hurt but I didn’t know why. There are just so many things I don’t know about that night that I don’t want to know, and so many questions that I don’t want to know the answers to.
Now that it’s all over, I can remember it every day and it’s always that bit worse. It’s weird. I feel like I should be forgetting this, getting on with things, but… I just can’t. It feels wrong if I don’t remind myself of it, like I’m trying to pretend that it never happened. It’s important to remember things.
“Stop thinking about it. You’ll just upset yourself again.” This is how most conversations start now.
“What if I like being upset?” That’s just me being mouthy but it’s a valid question. I don’t like being upset, it’s bad for the skin, but it doesn’t bother me to think about the crash. It happened, and there’s nothing that’ll change it. “I can’t forget that it happened.”
“You’ll never totally forget it, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over it.”
“I don’t. It happened, no-one got seriously hurt. I’m okay about that, I’m not about to sink into some kind of depression.” Surprisingly. I thought I’d be really cut up about it, putting my friends in danger, but it doesn’t upset me that much. The others seem to have forgiven me for it because they don’t seem to hold it against me. But even if they do blame me and are just hiding it really well, it’s their problem. Because it wasn’t my fault. It was that drunk driver who smashed into us that’s to blame. He was drinking a bottle of whisky at the time but he got away scot free. I remember him, I heard him running away before the police came and they still haven’t caught the son of a bitch. I ask you, where’s the justice in the world? What about karma?
I guess it was a little too much trouble for my parents to ask about my friends when they came to the hospital – I suppose they were worried about me. Maybe they did ask and I can’t remember. What happened after the crash gets fuzzier and fuzzier. Everything is kinda jumbled in my head, and I can only remember bits and pieces. I wish I could have apologised to everyone for putting them through that, but I thought they’d put the blame on me. Because without the drunk driver, I was the only guilty one.
“I just keep reliving the whole thing when I sleep. Sometimes when I’m awake too.”
“That’s not at all unusual after a trauma of this sort.” Classic therapist-speak I know, and it doesn’t help.
“Is it normal to keep hearing the screams and wishing you could have done something to save them from it?”
“What exactly do you think you could’ve done?”
I don’t have a clue. I mean, I had no control over that situation, I couldn’t do anything to stop him from ploughing into us, or to avoid him. And it’s not like I’m constantly wishing it had never happened, because wishes are birthday cake gimmicks, and I can’t turn back the clock. I’m not even bothered that I got a bit hurt and that – I’m not out for revenge, or anything like that – to tell the truth I didn’t feel that much and got off pretty lightly by all accounts. But sometimes I think ‘is there something I could’ve done to stop my friends going through it?’ It’s weird in a way I can’t explain.
3
Anyway, I was in hospital recovering from the injuries I got a week or so after, when I saw this young girl in the corridor. She was just a kid, probably eight or nine, and she had on this long blue nightdress. She looked at me once with the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. I wish I had eyes like that, instead of my own light grey ones. I know she shouldn’t have been by my bed – the children’s ward are supposed to have all the kids in bed by that time. But I felt like that was exactly where she should be, like she was reminding me of something.
And, the weirdest thing is that I felt like I knew her. I looked at her and tried to remember if, and where I had seen her before. Then she drifted off down the corridor, or maybe I just went to sleep, but I knew she was gone.
“Hello, darling. It’s us again,” came a fuzzy voice. I managed to work out that it was my mom speaking, but I was still a bit dopey from the drugs so it took me forever to figure it. “Just thought we’d pop in.” That was a joke as we live fifty miles away so unless they were going to visit some long-lost relative, they hadn’t just dropped by.
“Hey, kiddo.” How many times do I have to tell my dad not to call me that? “Feeling better today?”
I mumbled some reply, and I’m not even sure what it was meant to be, but it was lost on them as the doctor came in and they all started talking in hushed voices like he was a top secret agent which is so not. I think I dozed off again ‘cos when I came to, they were gone and I was staring at four walls again.
“Why do I feel it when I close my eyes?”
“There are all sorts of reasons why you could still be feeling the effects. Have you considered that you may not be as over it as you think?”
Well, that was just stupid. I’m totally over it, it’s done, I accepted it, but I haven’t quite got the knack of the moving on bit. “I can’t erase it from history. But I don’t consciously think about it – it’s just, I close my eyes and BAM! It happens again.”
All I ever see is the look in the drivers’ eyes as he goes into us, then everything’s a mess of flames and screams and bitter smoke. But it feels like I’m not there, just feeling what everyone else went through. And the only thing I can hear other than the screams of abject terror is that damned rock song. I mean, it was the last thing I remember so maybe it’s some sort of trigger?
The girl was there again that night. You know, the one from the children’s ward with green eyes. She feels so familiar but I can’t place. It had been bugging me all the previous night but I still couldn’t think of her. When I saw her though, I felt sort of peaceful, like she was watching over me. It was way strange but I felt kinda safe.
She came over to my bed and stared at me. I blinked but she was still there so I knew I wasn’t dreaming her. Her name is Hannah Waterford. I know her. I knew she would hurt me, but ultimately keep me safe. How did I know all this? Surprise, surprise, I don’t know – I just did.
“Hello Seraph,” she said. “Don’t be afraid of me. I’ll take care of you.”
She held out her hand to me and waited. A normal child wouldn’t speak like that, and I wondered if I was hallucinating again. Would’ve explained the floating banana at the end of my bed!
“Who are you?” But I already knew who she was. “How do you know who I am?”
“Don’t be silly. We all know you. We were just waiting for the right time.” She had a child’s voice but she spoke like a grown up. I thought she was just a little girl who wanted a friend so I took her hand and got up.
“It’s time now, Seraph.”
4
I remember going down the corridor. The ceramic tiles were in a blue and white cross pattern and they were icy cold under my bare feet. It’s weird, the things that stick in your head. I mean, a hospital corridor is hardly one to go down in the history books, but y’know – screw it, I remember it. Also, that song I like – I’m sure I heard it playing somewhere quite quietly. There’s no PA system that I saw but it must’ve been coming from somewhere – another corridor or something.
“We can’t go outside!” I was actually more scared than the kid, which didn’t really compute for me. “We’ll catch colds. And we’ll be caught.” Catch cold. Lame argument, huh? Well, I was hardly gonna tell the kid I was scared stiff, was I?
“C’mon. Let’s go. They won’t see us. No-one’ll even notice we’re gone.”
I wanted to find some other argument to make us stay in the warmth and safety of the hospital, I really did, but there was no reason. Security w
ere in their cosy little office watching the football highlights, and I wondered if Hannah had known and planned her one night only escape. “As far as they’re concerned, we’re not even here.”
I didn’t like the idea of not being seen – I’d never liked being ignored. I wanted to go with Hannah because I needed to get out for a while and, oddly enough, I trusted her completely, but I still held back.
“I need to see my friends. I need to know they’re safe.” I was responsible for whatever injuries they had, whatever pain they were in, I had to know.
“I’ve seen them. They’re fine, no serious injuries or anything.” Why had she been allowed to see them? Or, had she been having a sneak around? I didn’t really care though – I was just glad that they were alright. “They’re waiting to see you.”
“Really? Do they hate me?” I know now that they don’t hate me. Well, they don’t act like they do. But I wouldn’t have blamed them – even I hate me sometimes, just knowing that it was my fault. I mean, I was speeding a little, I let myself get distracted. But I also think that we would have been okay had it not been for that driver.
Even though none of them say it, I think they do blame me a little for letting it happen. I tell myself that they don’t mean it and that they will forget it one day. I have to tell myself that or… Plus, I’m over it now, it happened and I can never change it. Time to move on, yeah? Only, it took me that night to realise it. You can’t beat yourself up over it – it happened and that’s that.
“I don’t think so. But, when I saw them, they were a little –“
Before either us could see it, some big bloke had come from security and was watching us talk. “Hey, where you kids think you’re going?”
Damn! I thought up this brilliant excuse, I remember it now. Even. I was about to say how I was one of the wards and a friend had been taken to A and E and I had got lost trying to find it and how I had found this girl wandering round too. Then I remembered to breathe. See, I told you I remembered it all. But then some-one lobbed the ball in the back of the net so he went back in to watch. Hannah was tugging on my hand to go, but I stayed a minute in case he came back. I really wanted to say my excuse, but after a minute or so, it was obvious he wasn’t coming back. Some security staff!