Perfectly Preventable Deaths

42 Lavender

It all comes through in flashes. Sudden bursts.

Mam’s face, mouth open in a tiny little O.

A squeezing of my hand, and something soft and wet against my cheek.

The taste of blood I think might be my own.

Lavender, bay leaves, sage and earth and something I can’t … something … something else.

My name. My name. A voice that says my name.

And everything at once – and I wake up.

‘Drink this,’ Mamó says, and passes me a cup of something cold and brown. I take it, drink it in one draught.

I try to speak, her hand upon my forehead. My mother’s face. My mother’s face and Brian’s.

‘You don’t understand, Brian. He did this in our house.’

‘I promise you. I promise you …’ His voice is sad and I do not hear what he promises.

‘What would the police do? Sheila, he would gut them.’

‘I know. I know.’

‘I’m sorry, love.’

‘I know you are. That doesn’t make this fine.’

‘… They need my care. Or they will both be dead inside a week …’

I make it to the door and Catlin’s there. She’s breathing, up and down. I see her face. Oh God. Her face.

Little flashes.

‘Skin across her jaw is knitting back …’

Mamó is leaning in. ‘She’s on the mend.’ She coughs into a tissue. Is that blood?

Mam rubs my face. I close my eyes and lose her.

I want my mam. My voice. ‘I want my mam.’

‘Ridiculous …’

‘Look, the child agreed …’

‘I didn’t!’

Everyone is pale. They look so tired. Ashen grey.

Cold. My skin. My skin is very cold.

Morning. Oona at the bedside. She holds my hand but I can’t see her eyes.

‘… Call the guards on you …’

‘And tell them what? What would you tell the guards, Sheila?’

‘I wish that …’ Brian’s voice.

And Mam says, ‘Don’t.’