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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.
