Page 34 of The Pieces of Us

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘Of course I do,’ I scoff. ‘I’m on the filthy floor downstairs from my flat.’

‘Do you feel dizzy? Or sick?’

‘Nope. Just sore.’

‘Is your vision OK? Not blurry? No flashing lights.’

‘What’s with all these questions?’

‘I’m just checking you don’t have concussion,’ he says.

‘You a secret doctor or something?’ I try to laugh, but it hurts my head.

He laughs too, choosing to see the best in me. ‘I volunteered for the Red Cross while I was at uni, actually.’

‘Ah, that’s nice.’

‘We can’t rule out concussion … sometimes it’s not obvious until a bit later. But I think I can move you upstairs if you feel able.’

The cogs start turning. Minnie . I sit up in one determined movement, wincing with pain. It’s everywhere.

Asim is still holding my hands in his. ‘It’s OK. Take your time.’ The cogs are turning for him too. ‘Your mum … is she upstairs?’

‘Where’s my phone?’ I look around. ‘I need my phone. I need to get hold of Ruby.’

‘Why? What’s going on with Ruby?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. Minnie’s upstairs …

she’s on her own. Oh my God, I left her on her own.

How long have I been lying here?’ I lean on him to make it possible to stand up.

I can feel the pain in specific parts of my body now: my back, my right knee, my left ankle.

I gasp involuntarily and tighten my fingers round Asim’s hands.

‘I don’t know, Cat.’ Asim’s eyes go to my forehead. ‘Hold on, let me –’ He wriggles one of his hands out of mine and slips it into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. ‘Here.’

‘What are you doing?’ I touch my head, feel the wetness, look at my fingertips. ‘Oh. I’m bleeding.’

‘Just a little,’ he says. ‘Hold this against it until we get upstairs and I can sort it out properly.’

The stabbing pain throughout my body has subsided, replaced by a dull ache and widespread heaviness. Slowly, arm in arm, Asim and I head upstairs, retrieving my phone from the stairs on the way. ‘What are you even doing here?’ I ask him.

‘I was passing. I was at a viewing just round the corner,’ he says. ‘I saw the door open and thought I’d pop in and say hello.’

‘I forgot to close the door behind me,’ I murmur. ‘I was in a rush to get back to Minnie. I’d be so embarrassed if I wasn’t in pain,’ I tell him.

‘I know. Slow down a little. I’ll get you inside and comfortable and then we’ll call Ruby.’

We finally reach the top of the stairs. ‘It’s locked,’ I tell him. ‘Hold on …’ I dig in my pocket and it’s only when I hand him the set of keys that I see the swelling on the side of my hand all the way down past my wrist.

‘You’re going to be bruised to hell,’ he says softly, unlocking the door.

He guides me inside, and I ignore my discomfort to hobble to the living room, where Minnie is still on the sofa, still watching television, still holding her dreamcatcher in one hand and the remote control in the other but with the volume back to an inoffensive level.

‘I’m hungry,’ she says without looking up and I start to cry.

I surrender to Asim, because he’s the only one here right now, my brain is exhausted, and my body is screaming at me to stop being stubborn.

After he cleans up my head – ‘Just a tiny thing; it’s stopped bleeding already,’ he says brightly – I curl up in a corner of the sofa and let him bring me a hot-water bottle and a bowl of soup.

Minnie gets a bowl too and slurps happily beside me.

‘I like that man,’ she says under her breath. ‘He’s not mean. Is he new?’

‘He’s not a carer, Minnie,’ I say mechanically. ‘He’s your estate agent. And you’ve met him before. He came for dinner.’

‘An estate agent? What do I need one of those for?’ she demands.

I sigh. ‘God, you’re hard work.’

‘So are you,’ she retorts.

‘Hmmm.’ I go back to my soup, appreciating the warmth dispersing through me from the inside. When I’m finished, I pick up my phone. Miraculously it survived the fall without a scratch.

A text from Ruby tells me that she’s fine; she’s having dinner with Sean and his mum, and she’ll get a lift home later. That it’s All cool .

Home by 10 , I write.

She pings back an eye-rolling emoji but doesn’t try to negotiate. I want to keep the conversation going, but I know I should settle for knowing she’s OK.

Love you, Mum xxx pops up on my screen, and I start crying again. I’m still snivelling when Asim comes back into the room.

‘I’m fine,’ I tell him, using his handkerchief to wipe my nose. ‘It’s been a tough day, that’s all.’

‘I can wait with you until Ruby gets back,’ he says.

‘I appreciate that,’ I tell him honestly. ‘But I’m fine. And you’ve done enough. We’ll all get an early night and tomorrow I can show off my bruises.’ I force a grin; he returns the favour.

‘Can you take tomorrow off work?’ he asks.

I nod.

‘Please take tomorrow off work.’

I tell him I heard him the first time but promise to text Pete and let him know what’s happened.

‘You’ll be sore and stiff in the morning. Do you have painkillers? I couldn’t see any …’ His voice trails off. ‘I didn’t want to snoop.’

‘It’s OK,’ I tell him. ‘I do. They just need to be under lock and key, that’s all.’

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘My mum had to do the same with Jeedo.’

‘It’s not as if she’s got a habit of popping random pills. But better to be safe than sorry, right?’

‘This is all so much, Cat. I know you have carers to help, but … how are you coping? It must be draining having to be on high alert all the time.’ He studies my face until I look away.

‘I’ll go and make us a cup of tea, then I’ll leave you to it,’ he says, but doesn’t move from the arm of the sofa.

I look back at him, waiting.

‘For what it’s worth I think you’re doing an amazing job,’ he says quickly, then kisses me on the forehead.

I wait until he’s out of the room before I start crying again.

‘We’ll hang your dreamchaser in your room,’ I tell Minnie, mainly as an attempt to hurry up her bedtime routine. My head is pounding and getting my aching body into my own bed is my priority.

Her eyes light up. ‘Ooh. Good idea.’

We quickly agree on a suitable spot – in the corner of the room, next to the window. I open it, just a fraction, to let a barely discernible draught of air into the room.

‘I’m sure you’ll have good dreams tonight, Min,’ I tell her as I help her get out of her clothes and into her nightie.

‘I’ll make another one next time,’ she says. ‘For you.’

‘I’d love that.’ I stroke the delicate skin on her cheek, feeling the sharpness of bone. ‘I’m sorry I snapped at you today. I was tired … It’s no excuse. I love you, Minnie.’

Her expression suggests she doesn’t recall what happened earlier, but I choose to take her pat on my hand as a sign of forgiveness – as selfish as that may be. ‘I love you too,’ she tells me. ‘I don’t always remember who you are, but I remember that I love you.’

‘That’s all I need to hear, Min,’ I whisper. I ignore the pain pulsing through my body to sit with her in this moment and sink into her words. I wish she knew how comforting they are.

‘Maybe Beth would like a dreamchaser too,’ she says with a smile, closing her eyes.

Beth . That name again.

‘Ruby,’ I say softly, but I know she’s not thinking of Ruby.

The pieces that have been floating around in my tired mind for weeks have started to fit together.

But Minnie is already chasing her dreams and I can’t ask her if Beth is my mother.

I lie beside her for a few minutes and watch the white feathers sway in the corner of her room.

In the dim light of my own room, I’m brave enough to look at myself in the mirror as I peel off my clothes. Various parts of my body are flushing crimson. I’m going to look like an abstract painting in a few days.

I cover up the burgeoning bruises with long pyjamas and slide into bed.

I check my phone: it’s only 7.40 p.m. There’s nothing I want more than sleep, but I manage to keep it at arm’s length for another hour by playing my brain-training games on my phone.

I’m hoping I’ll reap the benefits when my mind is as sharp as a thirty-year-old’s when I’m eighty, knocking out eight-letter words during online Scrabble tournaments.

I’m in bed , I text Asim. Thanks again for today.

Too formal , I think, so I play the will-I-won’t-I game with various emojis for far too long before adding a single ‘X’ at the end. The man wiped blood off my forehead and practically carried me up the stairs and he’s a good kisser; a single ‘X’ is the least he deserves.

He replies almost immediately: No worries at all, Cat. Let me know if you need anything. I mean it xxx

I look at the row of kisses for what feels like a long time.

Thank you , I write. Maybe we can try that dance class when my bruises have healed …?

I’d love that. PS You’re still cute with blood dripping down your head xxx

I think for too long about how to respond and fall asleep before I can work it out.