57. Before

‘Mum!' I throw myself on her, but someone reminds me to be careful of her ribs so I press my face gently to the side of hers that isn't broken. If only the bright, sparkling joy bursting out of me weren't shaded by the looming fear of what comes next, when the police find out she's awake.

I pull back and look at her. ‘Mum?'

Her eyes lose their focus and she looks away.

The doctor, a skinny Indian woman with red glasses called Dr Rani, puts a hand on my back and draws me away. ‘Georgia, remember what we said.' She smiles kindly.

We don't know the extent of the damage to my mum's brain. We don't know if she can understand or speak or hear or remember.

But she's awake.

The doctors take her away for some tests, and when she comes back I crawl onto her bed to lie pressed next to her.

The police arrive. They ask if I've told her anything and I shake my head and tell them to get out. How can they be here? My mum can't even speak yet. Dr Rani agrees. She asks them to leave.

One of them goes; the other takes up his position again, on the chair outside the ward.

My mum watches it all and I think I can see a faint frown forming.

Where is my dad? The hospital called him hours ago and he said he was coming.

Then I feel my mum's arm move up, around me, and she's hugging me with her free arm, and angling her head down to press her nose in my hair.

Rani comes over and smiles. ‘Are you starting to come back to us, Arianne?' she says.

I feel my mother's fingers stroking my hair behind my ear, but she doesn't answer.

‘The best thing you can do is rest,' says Dr Rani.

We lie like that for what seems like forever, and then I see the clock and realise it's almost five in the afternoon. It's been half a day since she woke up and my dad still isn't here. I go out to the payphones to call him but it rings and rings till I give up and walk back, up the stairs, over the walkway, along the corridor, more stairs, past the nurse's desk and to her ward.

The policeman isn't outside. He's sitting by her bed. ‘These allegations are very serious, and the sooner you're able to answer our questions the better.'

I grab his collar and try to haul him back, but he just turns and frowns at me.

‘You can't be in here,' I say. ‘She's not well enough.'

He narrows his eyes. ‘She's responsive. She clearly understands what's being said.'

‘Are you her doctor?' I try to hold the anger but I'm crying.

He's told her what Tristan has said, that she's under arrest for sexual assault of a minor. What will it do to her? How can you come back from the dead and then hear that and keep going?

Rani comes in. ‘I told you she isn't ready to speak yet. Do I have to call security?'

‘I think you'd be saying otherwise if you knew what this woman did.'

‘Innocent until proven guilty. And guilty or not, she's a patient. Please, out. No, wait, take these cuffs off first.'

‘The cuffs stay.'

Rani shakes her head. ‘She's been in a coma for four days. She's got a broken arm and broken ribs. She isn't harming anyone.'

The policeman sighs, undoes the cuffs, grunts and walks out.

I wait for Dr Rani to leave and then I sit close. ‘Don't listen to him,' I say. ‘No one will believe it. Tristan is six-two and he got you that necklace and no one could believe you'd do something like that.'

But I'm lying.

It's like it was all planned. They spent months laying the groundwork.

She squeezes my hand.

I wonder why she isn't talking. Is there something wrong with her voice box, or something to do with the connections in her brain? Or maybe she knows I could have stopped this. If I'd just spoken to her about what was happening to me – what the whole school was saying about her – then none of this would have happened.

It's obvious now. If I'd told her Tristan was telling people she had the hots for him, she'd never have taken that necklace or set up the one-to-ones.

I start to cry again and I lean my face on her duvet.

If only I knew why this had started. If only I could go back in time and stop it.

I see Frances crying in the orchard, a year ago now, her face red and twisted as she pushed me, and I wish I could take that face in my hands and dig my nails into her eyes.

And then my mum rests her hand on my shoulder and I look up. She gazes round the room. The bed next to her is now empty and the nurses are tending to other patients. ‘My lovely one,' she whispers, blinking slowly.

My heart breaks again, tears flowing, lips wobbling.

She draws me to her. Then she whispers, ‘Where's your father?'

I shake my head. ‘I don't know,' I whisper back, not wanting the policeman to know that she's speaking. ‘He said he was coming.'

She nods and smiles and tears start leaking from the corners of her eyes. I grab a tissue and start dabbing.

I've barely even spoken to Dad about all of this. All he's said is that he'll look into finding Mum a lawyer.

How many times have I done this? Mopped up her tears as she waits for him?

We lie again in silence, waiting. Not knowing if he'll ever come. She has such beautiful hands – long, tapered fingers; clear, oval nails.

I have to go to the bathroom again, and this time, when I come back, Mum is standing, rattling the window.

‘They don't open any further, Mum,' I say. ‘I'm sorry. It's rubbish.'

She lets out what sounds like a laugh and it makes me smile.

Rani comes in. ‘Well, this does look like progress,' she says.

One of the nurses sticks her head through the door. ‘Georgia? Your dad's at reception, downstairs.'

‘Finally!'

‘It's just, visiting hours are over and your mum needs rest, but he's asking if you want to come home.'

‘I'm here. Can't he come up?'

Dr Rani gives me a sad, scrunchy-faced look. I know they've made special dispensations for me. They can't have more people breaking the rules.

I shake my head. ‘I'm not leaving my mum.'

But mum rests a hand on my shoulder and gives me a look.

‘Your mum will be okay,' says the nurse. ‘And it might be a good idea for you to get some real sleep.'

I shrug. ‘No, sorry. I'm not going.'

My mum's eyes glisten as she lies back down.

They take out her catheter, do more tests. I don't tell anyone that she can speak, and she pretends she can't, but the policeman starts giving us dirty looks, like he knows. Eventually, another policeman comes to relieve him.

‘Mum,' I whisper. ‘What happened? That day, when you offered me a lift, I was going to meet Frances. But Tristan was waiting instead. Tristan… he tried to… I think he tried to do to me what he did to you.'

She takes a sharp breath and squeezes my hand hard.

‘Mum?'

The policeman pokes his head round the door and I scowl at him till he goes away.

‘Mum?' I whisper again.

But she closes her eyes and fixes her mouth in a picture of sadness.

I wait and wait but she doesn't move.

Hospitals are noisy places. There are the beeps of the machines and the wail of sirens and the endless bustle of nurses and doctors. I'm thinking about how they say rest is the best medicine but then they wake you up to take your temperature, your blood pressure, give you pills in little paper cups, and then I fall asleep.