Lullaby Girl (2 page)
‘It’s only me, dear,’ says the lady, an’ Rhona says, ‘It’s only Mrs Laird.’
I look at the floor. Their voices get mixed up.
You’ve met her loads of times. Don’t you remember? I’m your psychiatrist, dear.
I keep lookin’ at the floor. From here I can see the lady’s shoes. Green. Bashed up but shiny. I’ve seen those shoes before, when the voice was talkin’. I don’t like the voice. It says things like
po-straw-matic
an’
hip-no-regreshun
.
Rhona puts a spoon in my mouth. Iss sweet. I eat, but jus’ a bit. Things get noisy, so I get up an’ go away. I come to a room with a see-through roof. Thur’s tables an’ chairs, an’ a big window. I go to the window an’ look out. Hills. Water. Sky. Iss quiet here. Thur’s a tree outside. I like that. I sit down an’ look at the tree. My mouth tastes sug’ry, an’ it makes me feel funny. I shut my eyes.
Swish swoosh
goes the tree.
Swish swoosh oooooosh
. When I look again, thur’s a lady there. I don’t like her face. She’s a diff’rent lady, with red glasses. Her hair’s all hard-lookin’.
‘
There
she is,’ says the lady, like she’s talkin’ to someone. But thur’s no one. Jus’ me an’ her. She holds my arm, an’ her fingers stick in hard. She pulls me up. It hurts. She starts to walk, an’ her hand drags me too. We go back to the noisy room.
#
Rhona takes me outside. We walk round. She points her finger. ‘That’s Loch Ghlas,’ she says, ‘and that’s the perimeter fence.’
I look down the hill. The fence looks tiny. Wind blows on my face. I close my eyes an’ breathe. Rhona keeps talkin’.
‘I suppose some folks might feel trapped by a fence. But it’s actually a nice thing, because it means no bad people can bother us. We’re safe and cosy in here, and you can walk around the grounds without having to …’
Rhona’s coat swooshes. Quiet. She talks again. Slower.
‘You like it out here, don’t you? Well, we’ll be coming out here a lot more. We can come out every day if you like.’
That smell … I know it. Where do I know it from?
I …
I open my eyes an’ see the sea. Far off. Grey. Iss further than the perimeter fence. But somehow the sea is all I can see. Suddenly I feel funny, like I can’t breathe. In my head, a picture of waves. Cold. Heavy. A blackness under me, an’ no place to put my feet. Iss the sea I smell. An’ … I’ve been closer to it than this. Much closer. Not jus’ on the beach, when the men came. I was
in
it … Far out … In the dark …
The funny feelin’ grows. I breathe out an’ can’t breathe back in. My heart goin’
bump bump bump
. Rhona’s mouth is movin’. Can’t hear her now. I go backwards. I gasp. The sky goes massive. All white, in my eyes. My ears are screamin’ an’ I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe … I …
Music plunging hard. I’m on the floor, pressed flat as possible. Dust in my mouth, in the deepest darkest animal trap, and above my head the screams keep coming. On and on and I can’t stand it and Katty I can’t I can’t … Katty! His face bathed in red and the words moving out of him … Slowww his hand comes up they will get me and I know then I know I am done for … …
… … … … … …
… … …
…
Fallin’. Dark shapes. Hands round mine. Pressed on my belly, too tight. I feel sick. The sky slams down, knockin’ a yell out of my mouth. I’m on my side. Grass in my face. An’ a voice, a noise, a song, all around. Iss comin’ from me. I’m makin’ it. I can’t stop. Rhona is sideways. Eyes in circles. She doesn’t move.
Solen er så rød, mor
og skoven bli’r så sort
Nu er solen død, mor
og dagen gået bort.
Ræven går derude, mor
vi låser vores gang.
Kom, sæt dig ved min side, mor
og syng en lille sang …
#
Iss quiet when I wake up, an’ I’m lyin’ on somethin’ soft. My throat hurts. I stare into the dark, tryin’ to understand. What’s that smell? Flowers? I think of the sea, an’ shiver. No … I roll sideways an’ put my arms round myself. There. That’s better.
What’s that sound? Breathin’? I hold my breath an’ listen. The sound keeps goin’.
Hnnnnngh … Pfff … Hnnnnngh … Pfff …
How long have I been here? My bones ache. In my head I see pictures of myself, standin’ in front of people. They smile slightly. The old ones clappin’ their hands. At the back, I notice four faces. A blonde lady, the white-haired lady, the lady with red glasses, an’ Rhona. They stand together an’ nod an’ whisper. For some time Rhona stands in front of me. She holds my arms. Talks at me. Tries to take me away. But in the pictures I won’t go with her. I want to stay in the big room. Singin’ an’ singin’ an’ singin’.
Hnnnnngh … Pfff … Hnnnnngh … Pfff …
Carefully, I sit up. Bed. Of course. I’m in bed. I put my legs out into cold air. Below my feet, thur’s carpet.
I’ve been dreamin’ …
Arms out, I start to walk. Iss so black I can’t see myself.
Bang
goes my knee, into somethin’ hard. The breathin’ noise stops. A pause. A
swoosh
. Then brightness pings on. I see Rhona, squintin’ up. We’re in a small pink room. Not the room she said was mine.
‘Hey, sweets. What’s wrong?’ Rhona says. She gets up.
I stand where I am. Lookin’ at the two single beds, an’ the shuttered window an’ the bolted door. Tears come to my eyes. Thur’s so much I don’t know, but I know this room. The ‘crisis room’, Rhona called it.
‘Come on. Let’s get you back in bed.’
Rhona puts her hands on my arms. I look up, an’ see her for what feels like the first time.
‘You’re freezing,’ she sighs. ‘Come on, sweets. Back to bed.’
Katty.
Her hands jump. We look at each other.
‘Did you just … ?’
‘Katty,’ I repeat, so quietly I hardly hear it, an’ for a moment my feet seem incredibly far away from me. I look at ’em, my heart beatin’ fatly.
Boomboomjaggaboomboomboooom
all over the place. So messy an’ zigzaggy an’ mixed up I’d understand if one little word got lost in there. My ears whistle. I wonder if I spoke at all. If the word didn’t really come out. But it must have, cos Rhona’s actin’ diff’rent. She ducks her head down close, an’ her eyes whizz round my face.
‘Ka— Is that your name? Katty? Your name is Katty?’
I look at her. That clear, kind, familiar face. Suddenly, I know iss true. I look her right in the eye, an’ I take a breath, an’ I nod. Rhona’s face changes again. She opens her mouth a bit. We look at each other. Then she stands back an’ puts out her hand. I’ve never seen her smile like that. Her eyes are alive.
‘Well,’ she says. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. I knew you’d show up sooner or later.’
#
‘Katty? Katty. You remember Vera, don’t you, Katty?’
I look at the blonde lady who’s talkin’. We’re in a whitish room. A pale-green sofa, like before, an’ I’m sittin’ on it.
‘My … name … is …
Car-o-line
,’ says the blonde-haired lady, all loud. She points at me an’ says, ‘Your … name … is … Katt-ee.’ She points at the white-haired lady an’ says, ‘This … is … Vee-ra.’
Why’s she sayin’
Vera
? Rhona said the white-haired lady is Mrs Laird.
I look at Mrs Laird. Thur’s lots of paper on her knees. My head hurts, like iss squashed. I close my eyes an’ put my hand on my eyes. That helps. My hand is sweaty-hot. Caroline’s started sayin’
Katty
a lot. They all have, since me an’ Rhona were in the pink room. I don’t know how long ago that was. That day’s jumbled up with the rest an’ iss hard to work out what came first.
Mrs Laird’s the one who always talks at me. I don’t know why Caroline’s here too. I think they want me to talk back. Sometimes I open my mouth an’ see ’em waitin’. Then my head starts hurtin’ an’ I have to close my eyes. My knees itch in the place where the scabs are. I wish Rhona would take me outside more. My head feels better out there.
Caroline an’ Mrs Laird look at the papers. They whisper. Caroline leans forward, holdin’ a bit of paper, an’ says, ‘Kattee. Verstehst du mich?’
They wait. Caroline’s lookin’ at me all super careful. I bend to scratch my leg, an’ her eyes whizz after me.
Caroline looks at her paper. ‘Singen sie gerne?’
Mrs Laird shakes her head. Whispers to Caroline. They look at the paper again. I don’t know what’s goin’ on.
‘Er du dansk, Katt-ee? Forstår du mig nu?’
A pain goes through my head. Like someone whacked me from behind. I stand up, fast, an’ get my legs muddled up. Suddenly Caroline is in front of me. Her eyes are excited. I back away, grabbin’ my head, an’ before I know what’s what I’m on the floor. What’s hap’nin’? Why can’t I breathe right? Those words
did
somethin’. Iss like a magic spell. I start singin’, to make the bad feelin’ go away.
‘Danish,’ says Mrs Laird.
When I’ve stopped bein’ scared they put me back on the sofa. They talk at me for a long time, but now they jus’ talk with the funny words. Readin’ out stuff. Waitin’. Writin’ stuff down. When they talk about me they don’t whisper. Iss like they think I can’t hear ’em any more.
‘I don’t know,’ says Mrs Laird. ‘I’m still not convinced she understands.’
‘Come on! That’s the biggest reaction we’ve seen in a month.’
‘We’re close, I’ll give you that. But no … I don’t know. I think the truth’s more subtle. That lassie’s British. You mark my words.’
‘She hasn’t uttered a word of English.’
‘Call it a gut feeling …’
Mrs Laird puts her chin on her fist. My scabs itch. I look at the window.
#
I wake up to twilight an’ the sound of a bell. Far away, for ages, the bell tinkles.
Chingle-ingle-ing, chingle-ingle-ing, chingle-ingle-ing.
Sometimes the bell stops, an’ voices fill the silence. Other times it keeps goin’. I fall in an’ out of sleep. The voices I hear get angrier. At some point I hear shoutin’. Crashin’ noises, stompin’, an’ a door slammin’. For a while after that iss quiet. But later on the bells come more an’ more. When I wake up prop’ly, the room is bright. Rhona sits in the chair by the bed. I watch her for a while. Her face is frownin’, even though she’s asleep. The bell rings, jus’ then, an’ her eyes open.
‘Morning,’ she says when she sees me. ‘Or should I say goddag?’
She looks an’ sounds exhausted, an’ she doesn’t smile. In the background, the bell keeps goin’.
‘That’s the phone,’ says Rhona, without breakin’ eye contact. ‘The newspapers have gone bananas for you.’
Chingle-ingle-ing, chingle-ingle …
‘Shut
up
!’ yells a voice, from somewhere close by.
‘Why?’ I whisper. A short silence. One corner of Rhona’s mouth curves up.
‘I
knew
it,’ she murmurs. ‘Your song, I’m afraid. One of the cooks filmed you and sold the video to the
Daily Post
. Now everyone and their dog’s calling up to tell us you’re Danish.’
I frown.
‘I’m sorry, sweets. She filmed it on her phone. We sacked her this morning.’
‘The … cook.’
‘Yes.’
I try to understand what this means. Iss hard. I don’t remember seein’ any cook. When my eyes open again, Rhona’s lookin’.
‘Why do you sing a lullaby, Katty? Why a
Danish
lullaby?’
I look at her, an’ frown.
‘Katherine,’ I say.
Rhona’s mouth opens a bit. Then she closes it.
‘You’re not Danish, are you?’ she says.
I look at her, an’ wonder about this. Am I?
‘I … don’t …’
‘But you understand me, now, don’t you? Your first language is English?’
‘Mmmmgh,’ I say, an’ hold my head. I’m not used to mixin’ my thoughts with someone else’s. Iss like bein’ forced to do maths. Unfinished problems, with a tickin’ clock an’ jus’ one right answer.
Rhona smiles, in a sad sort of way. ‘Sorry, hon,’ she sighs. ‘Overload, huh?’ She frowns at the floor for a while. ‘It’s a long road,’ she murmurs.
I look round the room an’ see a clock on the wall. I never noticed it before. A quarter to eleven, it says. The quick hand’s gone round once by the time Rhona talks again.
‘This … newspaper. They’ve got a picture of you now. No one was meant to have that. They printed it with a fuzzy patch on your face, but still …’ She puts her hand on her head, the same way I do, an’ goes quiet for a minute. Then she says, ‘They started a sort of fan club for you, a fortnight ago. People give money to help you, and they’ve been sending it all to Gille Dubh. You’re quite popular, you know. Since this video turned up they’re calling you Lullaby Girl.’
‘Lullaby …’
‘It’s a lullaby. The song you sing. Don’t you know that?’
She stares me out. Tears come to my eyes.
‘No,’ I say.
Rhona holds her head. She keeps lookin’, but her eyes have gone tired.
‘Well,’ she says, softly. ‘You’re the only one in Britain who doesn’t.’
MmhorGDRegP89/10
Name: ‘Katherine’
Gender: F
DOB: Unknown. (Est. age 30)
Date of session: 20/04/2006
Duration: 15min
T: Therapist, P: Patient
[Note: Patient is now in a hypnotic trance and has just visualised stepping through a door …]
T: What do you see?
P: Too bright. White.
T: Can you hear anything?
P: Birds.
T: Can you hear any voices?
P: Not sure. No. Hear self breathing.
T: Is it still bright?
P: Can make out shapes.
T: Let your eyes adjust to it and then you can tell me when you start to make things out.
P: Sitting on something hard. A suitcase. Snow. Outside. Lots of snow.