Carrion by Betsy Reavley

Author:Betsy Reavley [Reavley, Betsy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books

After an early supper of baked potatoes, salad and ham, Monica and I went into the sitting room to indulge in some terrestrial pleasures. We sat curled up on the sofa while the fire roared in the hearth, watching a rerun of a David Attenborough programme about insects. I love all things related to nature and was fascinated by what I learnt about centipedes. Monica didn’t pay much attention to what was being said. She stared at the screen while the images melted into one another. Her mind looked blank and her soul seemed empty.

The night grew thick around the house and Monica said she had a headache. That did not surprise me as the poor love was tired from the dreadful day she had had, but when I suggested she went to bed she said she was scared to return to her bedroom. Her tension radiated around the room. In a decisive move I turned the television off and turned to face her.

‘I think you need to talk about this. Maybe I am not the ideal person but right now I’m all you’ve got and I’m here for you. Tell me what happened up there earlier. I promise to try and understand. You can be honest with me, darling. I’m your mother and I love you.’

Monica immediately welled up. She wanted to speak but she couldn’t. A thick heavy veil had fallen over her mind that would not allow it. Seeing the pain on my daughter’s face, I edged over on the sofa and wiped the hair away from her brow. Monica looked smaller than she had ever done. All I wanted to do was wrap her up and take her away somewhere where she would feel safe.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I can’t do this now. My head hurts. I just need to sleep.’

But Monica did not move from the sofa. She was too scared to go upstairs.

‘I’m going to get a blanket and hope I drift off down here in front of the box.’

I told Monica to make herself comfortable while I fetched her a blanket. Monica did as she was told and rolled herself up in a small ball in the corner of the large soft sofa. I was reminded of nursing my teenage daughter years ago when she returned home after her first experience with cider, although she had not looked as ill and as beaten then as she did now.

When I returned with a huge herringbone woollen rug and the duvet off my bed, I tucked up my darling, who was already beginning to drift off into a dreamless sleep.

‘Tomorrow will be different. You’ll see. I’ve got a good feeling about it.’ Stroking Monica’s silky hair, I held tightly onto the foreign feeling of hope that stirred in my stomach. ‘I’m going to sleep in here with you.’

Monica blinked her eyes half-open to let me know she had heard. I slipped off my jeans and top and settled myself down on the other sofa. I was not going to leave her alone in the state she was in.

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