Page 48 of Life Lessons

My whole body aches, like it does after a really severe bout of flu, or an extra long crying session. It’s as though I am tired right down to my very bones. My throat and the soreness I feel when I swallow is the most obvious pain, almost like I have been vomiting a lot. Or maybe they did an operation because I remember when they operated on my leg, having the tube down my throat to help me breathe caused a lot of bruising and soreness to my windpipe, and it does feel a lot like this. My stomach feels sore as well, which would be consistent with the excessive vomiting. The only other thing I’m aware of is that my heart feels as though it is racing every so often. I can hear it on the monitor. Out of nowhere, completely unprovoked, it’s like my heart skips a beat, and then races to try and catch up. It’s such a strange feeling, like someone is sitting on my chest. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was my mother.

Opening my eyes fully, I cast a glance around the room. I’m not sure who I was expecting to find in here, maybe no one at all, but I was shocked to find my father sitting in the chair nearest to me. He is asleep so I am able to cast a glance over the man who was once one of my favourite people in the world. The night I lost Tillie, I lost him too. He was never the same afterwards, and as I look over his sleeping form now, I can tell the effects it has had on him.

It can’t have been too long since Tillie died, I can’t seem to remember what date it actually is at the moment, but he looks as though he has aged around ten years. His dark hair is almost all grey now, and his face is peppered with wrinkles and worry lines. His metal frame glasses are pushed off his nose on top of his head and he looks peaceful as he sleeps. I know when he finally opens his eyes, it will be like looking in the mirror. Everyone says my eyes look like dad and Tillie’s looks like Mum. It’s how a lot of people told us apart.

What shocked me most, apart from him being here at all, is the fact he isn’t wearing a suit. I can’t remember the last time I saw my dad in anything other than a full suit and tie. Even for breakfast. But, right now, he is wearing dark blue slacks and a cream polo shirt, dressed as though he is about to go to the golf course for a quick round.

I don’t want to wake him, he looks so peaceful, and given the shrill voice I can hear yelling from the corridor, I know it won’t be too long until my mother is back in here. So he deserves a few extra minutes of sleep. I look around, trying to find a glass of water, as the burning, irky feeling in my mouth is starting to bother me. I feel very dehydrated, and desperate for some water. I can’t remember the last time I drank anything.

Literally, within seconds of me thinking that my brain began supplying me with flashbacks of what I now know to be the one year anniversary of Tillie’s death. It’s like the day flashes by in just still picture format and I look on, as an observer, watching as the darkness descends. I remember the text from Trixie, extending the olive branch. Then the tattoo, and Mike. Fuck, I hope I didn’t damage the design in the water. I really should call him when I’m better, he’s a friend I definitely need. I watch as I text Trixie, finally feeling like I wanted to let people back in again. Then it was all snatched away thanks to my so-called mother. The words she said, the names she called me. Confirming everything I was already beginning to suspect that the wrong twin died that day and I intended on putting the balance right.

Then my heart breaks as I watch snap shot after snapshot of the vodka I drank, the tears I shed, and the ibuprofen I downed to kill the pain. Then I remembered that confused feeling when I realised the once full box was now empty. Twenty four tablets in the packet at a strength of 400mgs each. I was only supposed to take three per day. Yet I swallowed them all, one after the other. 9600mg instead of the 1200mgs that I should have taken. I am lucky to even be alive, but the question is, am I pleased to be alive?

As I watch the images of myself taking the pills, one after the other, not really checking what I was taking, I try to remember how I felt. I know I felt low, lost, and alone, all of that is still swirling around in the pit of my stomach and hasn’t gone anywhere. But I know as soon as people realise I am awake, the first thing they will ask is whether or not I tried to end my own life, and I am not entirely sure what the answer is.

Consumed by sadness at watching myself stoop to the lowest point I have ever been, I reach over to take the glass of water on the table next to me. I look at the array of cards and flowers, not able to face where they came from yet. I guess a part of me is scared they will all be for my mother, expressing their sadness for her daughter, rather than actually for me. I pushed away anyone I could call a friend, and the one person I want to hear from most wouldn’t have left me a card. So, I try to ignore them, focusing just on the water. But as I lean forward, the pain in my stomach rips through me and my hand starts to shake. I don’t know if I am nervous or in pain. All I do know is that if I do by some miracle manage to pick up the glass of water, it will slosh everywhere. I let out a huff and dropped my arm. Looks like I will have to ask for help from a nurse, but I will leave it a bit. My mother might come in with a nurse and my brain isn’t ready for her.

“Sweetheart, you are awake. You should have woken me. Here let me get that,” my father says with such kindness to his voice, it shocks me. I have had nothing but grunts and orders from him the last year. In fact, this may be the longest we have been in the same room together since Tillie’s funeral.

I swallow a big gulp of water and wince as it scratches down my sore throat. Clearing my throat gently I reply, “Thank you. I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful.”

He chuckles with a small smile on his face, but I can tell it’s forced. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I was probably relishing the peace since your mother isn’t here,” he chuckles and I can’t help but laugh.

The laugh catches in my sore throat causing me to cough and gasp for breath. My father stands over me, holding the straw sticking out of the water to my lips. He encourages me to drink a little before he places the water on the side again. He pulls his chair even closer this time, and takes hold of my hand.

“I was so worried about you, Abbie. I honestly thought I was going to lose you, too, and the idea of that broke me. It’s quite ironic really because I thought I already was broken and irreparable after Tillie left us. I thought I had nothing more left to lose. Until you showed me how wrong I was. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for abandoning you. I have no real excuse, all I can say is the pain of looking at you and seeing her was too much,” he says, as a tear rolls down his cheek.

I don’t think I have ever seen my father cry, other than at Tillie’s funeral, but even then it must have been one single tear. If I had blinked I would have missed it. The problem with my father, and rich people in general, is their status matters to them too much. My father would have been too busy worrying about his reputation to let the tears fall for his own daughter. Or at least that is what I thought until right now. Maybe he was just in so much pain he thought if he started he would never stop. Now that I can relate to.

“I guess it’s hard looking at the face of her killer,” I whisper, hating the words on my tongue. His eyes shoot wide, and he looks mad. He drops hold of my hand, not that I’m surprised. Of course he would want to break all contact with me. But then he does something strange. He takes hold of my face in both of his hands, and as he lightly strokes my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, he pulls my face gently until I have no choice but to look him in the eye.

“Now, you listen to me, Abigail Louisa Nightingale. You did not kill your sister. I may not know fully what happened that night with your sister, but I do know what the police and my private investigator managed to find out. You were not responsible for Tillie’s death, and you certainly didn’t kill her. If you had, I would have allowed the police to take you in straight away. Yet they never even considered that. One day, when you can tell me what actually happened that night, maybe then we can talk through it together. But until I know differently, you are not responsible,” he states firmly, his gaze never once leaving mine.

Before I get a chance to respond he plants a soft kiss on the top of my forehead, like he used to do when I was younger, and keeping hold of one hand, he drops back into the seat.

We sit there in silence for a short while, as I take in exactly what he just said. He is right about one thing, until I finally tell the truth about what happened that fateful night, they will never get closure. I know I will never be able to, but they can. I owe my father that, after all the pain and suffering I caused. I look over, trying to find the right moment to start the story. At first he is texting on his phone so I wait, and when he puts his phone away, I take a deep breath and start.

“I don’t know how much of that night you remember, but I will just tell you what I know and hopefully it fills in any blanks. It’s weird how clearly I remember it,” I say as I think back to the night where my life changed forever.

“What do you mean,no? Why the hell not? You are going out, so why can’t we,” I shout towards my mother as she looks at herself in the mirror, putting some flashy diamonds in her ears before putting on her make-up and smacking her lips together like a fish. Normally I would laugh at that, but I’m too pissed.

“I am the grown up here, Abigail, and I say no. Do you not remember what happened last week?” she says smugly and I groan.

So I had a little bit too much to drink, so what. Yes, I may have vomited all over the hallway carpet, and left it there to piss off my mother. And yes, I may also have stumbled and smashed a vase worth over a hundred thousand. That’s a crazy amount to pay for a piece of glass that holds flowers in my opinion. But my mother has still not got over the events of last weekend apparently.

“What if I promise to make sure Abbie doesn’t drink?” Tillie asks my mum sweetly, hoping her goodness will rub off eventually. Mother just rolls her eyes.

“No. Now, I want to hear no more about this. I will be back around midnight, but if I call you during the night, I expect you to be here to answer. If you leave this house you will both be grounded until after graduation, and that means, no prom,” she spits venomously. Her dislike for me is evident when her eyes bore into mine while she threatens us. I know it may sound like the threat was aimed at us both but it’s clear she means me. Mum has always thought of me as the bad to Tillie’s good. What she doesn’t realise is that Tillie just hides her bad side a lot better than I do.

Once mother exits the house, leaving the door wide open as one of our maids comes to close it behind her, I shake my head at her false sense of grandeur. As if the woman thinks she is so important she can’t even close the door behind her. Once the maid is out of earshot, since I never know which employee is really a spy for Mum, I turn to Tille. “I say we sneak out.”

“No!” she says firmly as we walk back to her bedroom. I go to argue, but her phone pings and she pulls it out. I walk beside her in silence, giving her time to read the message. If it’s what I think it is, this will only serve me well.

Several more pings later, we finally get to our room and she starts jumping around, doing this little happy dance I have seen many times before. I giggle as I wait for her to tell me the news I already know is coming.

“Oh my God. You won’t believe this… Ryan is coming to the party, and he asked me to save him a dance. I thought he had to babysit his little brother,” she squeals. I smile but don’t say anything.

I knew mother was going to say no to us going out. She had been saying no for two days, and I had seen that look on her face before, I knew she wouldn’t change her mind. I also knew it would take a lot for Tillie to risk us getting into more trouble by sneaking out. She had been talking about liking Ryan for some time now. He is on the football team, and is popular in school. She is the perfect match for him, and they’ve talked a lot, but I think both of them are a bit on the shy side. So, I messaged Ryan asking if he would come to the party if I got him a babysitter. He agreed, but asked me why I would do that. I said that I was doing him a favour, and if he wanted to return said favour then all I would ask for is a dance with my sister. He was confused, but agreed. One quick text to my old nanny, who I knew definitely didn’t work for my mother any more as she hated her, Helga agreed to the night’s work babysitting. Now that was all sorted, I just had to wait for Tillie to say she wanted to come, and it didn’t take long.

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