Kitabı oxu: «Before You Were Mine: the breathtaking USA Today Bestseller»

In Memory of Bear

x x x

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling.)

I fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart.

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

E. E. Cummings, I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

“i carry your heart with me (i carry it in”. Copyright 1952, © 1980, 1991 by the Trustees for the E. E. Cummings Trust, from COMPLETE POEMS: 1904-1962 by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J. Firmage. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. This selection may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

CHAPTER 1

Apparently, I was a breech birth and – according to who you speak to – they think that all my problems come from that. I had decided to be a pain right from the beginning. ‘An awkward little belle,’ they used to say. All my brothers popped out like bubbles in an ice-cream sundae. Pop pop pop. But me? Me? I dug my elbows in and jumped out feet first.

My saving grace was that I was tip to toe a girl. Ma Bell had dreamed of having a little girl to dress up in lacy frocks and cotton socks that she would spend her days darning, whilst the boys and my Pa lay under oily cars drinking beer. So no matter about my pointed elbows, my Ma’s face was a picture. Bell’s Belle. Belle of the ball.

It’s rumoured that when the matron tried to cut my cord, my Ma was so determined we wouldn’t be separated, that she grabbed hold of the surgical scissors and chased her from the room. Can you imagine that? Again, it depends on who you ask. My eldest brother, Bert, says that’s just nonsense and she couldn’t wait to get me out. Pop pop pop. Eight pound and four ounces of little girl Bell. Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes.

My Pa, at the time of my birth, was changing a cam belt on an old Chevrolet and on hearing I was a girl, decided that whilst he was under the car, he may as well show my middle brother, Samuel, how to check the brake pads too. Shucks, that fatherly bond was strong.

Bert was approaching seventeen when my Pa and Ma discovered she’d fallen. Samuel was fourteen and Payton eleven years old. I hadn’t been planned and apparently not very welcome, but my Ma hung on and prayed every day that I would be a girl, and by golly just look at me. The prettiest girl in the U S of A. Except I was broad-shouldered, big-boned, and covered in puppy fat. But her prayers had been answered. Hallelujah. There is a God. Praise be to the Lord. Amen.

Our house is the fourth one on the right, just off the main drag. The one with the painted picket fence and star-spangled banner dangling from the front porch, just like in the movies. JFK would have been proud. Except I think the paint is probably peeling off the fence still. My Pa had promised my Ma a thousand times he’d paint that damn fence, but every year the thick grey-white mass would peel away, bubbling under the heat of the day.

My Ma would sit me on her knee on the porch and rock me to and fro, checking my forehead for a temperature. How she’d be able to feel a fever in that heat, heaven only knows.

Inside was just like a home should be. The smell of cooking simmering in the corner of the kitchen and a table in the middle, where we’d all sit and eat as a family. A first-class American family. I’ve seen them in the movies too. Across the table of food, I could always smell the gasoline from my Pa’s overalls, and it was a smell I’d associate with fine home cooking. Finger lickin’ good. That food just ain’t no good if you can’t smell the gas.

Until I was three, I slept in my parents’ room. My two younger brothers shared and Bert had a room to himself, but after Bert was drafted, it made more room for me.

Springfield had a population of approximately four thousand. Four thousand hot sweaty people in a stifling, dusty town. But as of my first day at Springfield High, there was only one person who mattered to me and that was Daisy Jones. Daisy was approximately one inch taller than me and about ten times as pretty – maybe more – and ten times more self-assured. Having three older brothers ain’t the biggest confidence booster, let me tell you, and perhaps it was that one inch that made me look up to her and decide to stay right by her side.

Looking back, my stocky build and plain Jane face were probably the reason why Daisy Jones elected me as her best friend. It doesn’t hurt to look prettier than the girl next to you and she sure was pretty. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t what you call ugly. Now Penny Hansen, she was ugly and in hindsight, perhaps if I’d have picked her as my friend then I’d have looked a damn sight prettier than I was. But like all the children at Springfield High, I was struck by Daisy’s golden hair, delicate freckles, and the confident air with which she strode across that playground.

On the way home from school, we would run through the fields of cotton past the apple orchard, behind Mrs Melrose’s shack, and if we were lucky she’d come out and bring us a fruit ice to quench our dry tongues. We’d return home with sticky raspberry juice dripping from our mouths, thirsty for more. My Ma would be outside in the backyard, hanging out the washing that blew like ships’ sails and Daisy and I would run around the billowing sheets playing tag until it was time to help my Ma prepare the supper for the boys.

I would sit at the table peeling potatoes and my Ma would pop Daisy onto the pedestal by the kitchen window, so she could look out for her Pa returning from work. Daisy’s Ma had run off a number of years ago, leaving her Pa Harold to look after her on his own. By all accounts he had done a damn fine job. That’s if you didn’t count the all-day drinking, the numerous jobs he had been fired from, and the fact he hadn’t spoken more than two words to Daisy since her Ma had left.

So, Daisy would sit staring out onto the dusty road, fluttering her eyelashes, whilst my Ma looked adoringly at Daisy’s golden hair and wistfully wished I could be that little bit prettier, that little bit slimmer, that little bit, little bit …

I didn’t mind my Ma paying Daisy so much attention. Hell, in fact more often than not I would encourage it. The more she looked at Daisy, the less she looked at me. The less she looked at me, the less I did.

You see, I wanted to be the perfect daughter for her but my angular nose, wide shoulders, and the gap between my two front teeth made me less than perfect. But finding Daisy? Finding Daisy, was like discovering the missing piece in the jigsaw. I wasn’t her friend just because she made me laugh, or because she told me how to dress, or even because it made me that little bit more popular. I was Daisy’s friend simply because she filled the hole I was unable to.

We were inseparable. Two peas in a pod, ripe and ready for picking. We’d spend Sundays after church playing hopscotch drawn out on the dusty road, watched by gawky boys who didn’t dare approach us for fear of encountering Daisy’s sharp tongue. She would tease them by hitching up her skirt and jumping as high as she could and the boys would lie on the sandy road in their Sunday best, trying to get the finest view.

I, on the other hand, would skip awkwardly across the numbers, holding my skirt down in fear of being hollered at. After she had got their attention, she’d glance over her shoulder, flutter her eyelashes, and run as far and as fast as she could. I’d trail behind, with my skirt flapping between my legs, giggling, watching the boys clamber up from the road to chase after her. Running across the backyards, through the orchard, past Melrose’s shack and into the dense growth that surrounded the east side of town, we ran until we knew we were safe.

Catching our breath, we’d lie on our backs and look up at the burning blue sky, daring the other to stare directly at the sun for as long as possible. Both blinded by the saffron light, we’d roll around giggling, unable to see each other for the inky squiggles that would appear before our eyes. I’d lie there, blinded, knowing that Daisy was right by my side and it was then, in that moment, that I knew I didn’t want anything to ever change.

What is it they say? If you want make God laugh, tell him about your plans.

CHAPTER 2

I could see it was turning dark outside and thankfully a light breeze was floating gently through the open window. It’d been a while since the last contraction and I was grateful for the respite. I really didn’t know it were going to hurt so bad. I hadn’t felt pain like that before, not even when I’d tripped up on the back porch when I was four and flew into the door at full speed, cutting my head open.

Mrs Melrose thought a cat had been killed, by the wailing I gave out. I remember running into her backyard, holding my bleeding head, dripping claret droplets all over her scorched lawn. No one was home at our place and I’d remembered seeing Mrs Melrose on my way back from the store. She patched me up good and proper and that ginger ice cream sure helped take the pain away.

I had wandered back the long way from school, so as not to run into anyone on the way home, when the first pains began. I didn’t know what it was and for a minute I thought it might have been the chicken I’d eaten at lunch, but when I felt the dripping on my leg and saw a puddle of water in the dusty road, I knew. I just knew it was time.

Holding my tummy as tight as possible so as to keep everything in, I ran up past the picket fence and up the steps into our empty house. I knew no one was in. The boys would be hanging around the garage with my Pa, and my Ma was no doubt on one of her countless shopping trips with Daisy, preparing for the Annual Independence Parade.

As soon as the recess bell rang, Daisy would dash out of the classroom, before I had tidied my desk, and she’d run to my Ma, who’d be waiting open-armed at the gates for her little girl. I had given up trying to pack up my desk as fast as possible and with the extra weight I was carrying, I was even slower than usual.

Grabbing some pencils from my bag, I wrote on the back of my math book, a note for my Ma and Daisy to find when they returned home. ‘Baby coming. Gone to hospital. See you soon. Love Eli.’ I left a kiss for both of them. ‘Kiss Kiss.’ I ran the cold faucet and, cupping my hands under the water, I tipped it over my face to try and cool me down, but as soon as it had dripped down my face onto my school uniform, I was damn well bursting with heat again.

Checking my pocket for some loose change, I stepped back out into the mid-afternoon heat. Still clinging on to my belly, I made my way to the bus stop praying that I wouldn’t look behind me and see a trickle of water. As I waddled along, pressing my legs as close as could be, I could see as I passed by the general store, him glancing across at me and turning his head as he caught my eye. It had only been nine months previous when I had tasted that raspberry ice melting on my tongue.

Since that day, I have never been so grateful for a bus being on time. More often than not, we’d wait twenty, maybe thirty minutes for the bus to arrive from Mallory and it’d be packed full; but this time, this time not only was it on time, but thankfully it was fairly empty too. I had gotten used to the stares from both strangers and neighbours as they looked me up and down in disgust. Admittedly, a heavily pregnant fourteen-year-old girl is bound to attract remarks, but I had never known that people could be quite so cruel.

As I shuffled carefully onto the bus, with the change becoming clammy in my hand, I spotted Johnny Wilson and Tim Dwight from seventh grade loungin’ at the back of the bus. My stomach dropped so far I looked to the floor to see if anything had come out. Keeping my gaze firmly fixed down, I squeezed my legs together and sat myself as near to the front as possible, in the hope they wouldn’t see me. I ignored the first few times I felt the slight tug on my hair, hoping they’d get bored, but the more I ignored them, the more it seemed to encourage them.

The heat on the bus was excruciating and I tried to open the window, but it just wouldn’t budge. Biting my lip so hard, to stop myself from yelping, I tasted iron on my tongue. The cramps had gotten so bad that the tugging on my hair, which I found out later was gum they had thrown at me, melted into the background. Finding it hard to breathe, I could barely sit up straight and the rising temperature only intensified the faintness I felt.

Clutching on to my insides as tight as possible, I rocked gently to and fro to try and calm the pain. I could hear them; don’t get me wrong. I knew exactly what they were saying, but everything around me was swimming. I tried to count to one hundred, but I don’t think I got any further than seventeen.

‘Hey, fat girl, ya want some of this?’

‘Smelly Eli’s got the fattest belly.’

Now I know you think it’s because I was a coward that I got off and they did too, but I just couldn’t stay in that stinking heat any longer. As soon as I saw the next stop approaching, I leapt up and waddled off the bus as quick as I could.

‘Oh, shit man, she’s wet herself.’

‘That’s disgustin’, fatty.’

They shouted more, but thankfully the bus doors shut to and, as all the windows were closed, the only taunting left was Johnny silently mooning me from the back of the bus. As I staggered to sit down in the gutter, with two blocks ’til the hospital, I could feel the warm bloodied fluid trickling down my legs, staining my cotton socks.

*

Day had turned to night and there were still no sign of Daisy or my Ma. I knew they’d had a lot to do. Ma was in charge of all the girls entering the pageant and Daisy had only been too glad to help.

I’d asked the nurses who kept checking in on me if perhaps they had turned up and had been sent the wrong way, but they all shook their heads solemnly, felt my pulse, checked my temperature, gave me some oxygen, and left the room. I don’t think the pain could have got any worse and as much as I tried to breathe, it was becoming more and more difficult.

The nurses were fairly kind. I knew what they were thinking: the same as everyone else; but at least they waited until they weren’t in earshot to express their thoughts. One in particular seemed to take a shine to me and held my hand as I puffed and panted. Her hand seemed so soft in mine and I shall never forget how gently she stroked my fevered brow with a cold wet flannel.

I hadn’t meant to cry but it felt so good to be shown such tenderness, when I was in so much pain. I had tried to be so brave, so that when my Ma turned up, she wouldn’t think I was a crybaby, but I swear it hurt so bad I couldn’t help it. Every time the doors swung open, I glanced up in the hope that it would be her.

I knew she probably would have had to prepare the boys’ supper before coming out and I guess that would take a little time, but I could see the clock on the wall had gone eleven in the evening. I wasn’t sure what time the buses ran until, especially with tomorrow being July Fourth an’ all and I was usually in bed by nine, but I thought they must run to and fro ’til pretty late. The shift workers from the mill caught it most of the night. Perhaps the note I had left had blown off the table in the breeze; perhaps something awful had happened to her. I know, I know, in my heart of hearts I knew, but you have to trust me on this one: this wasn’t the time for facing home truths.

One truth I couldn’t hide from was Daisy. As quick as day had turned to night, so had Daisy. You gotta understand that I was as surprised as her, so it’s not like I could prepare myself for breaking the news, but it seemed to me she took it the worst out of all of us. Thankfully her and my Ma were there for one another. They proved to be a great support for each other. Solid as a rock. Cold as stone.

I don’t know whether it was because it was such a shock, but from the moment she found out, from the moment anyone found out, it was as though they couldn’t talk to me. Not only did they think I had become deaf, but it seemed as though they thought I had been struck dumb as well. From spending every possible moment together, Daisy couldn’t get away from me fast enough. The girl who had teased the boys, skipping hopscotch with her skirt held high, had suddenly became so prudish that she could no longer look her friend in the eye.

I was the elephant in the room.

Not even Daisy had asked who the boy could have been. She simply raised her eyebrows and shook her head, taking my Ma’s hand in hers. No mention of the fact she’d left me alone to while away the afternoons, whilst she hung out with the boys on the promise I wouldn’t say a word. No mention of the fact I’d often smell booze on her breath and I’d hide her in my room, ’til she passed out and then finally awakened, her eyelashes aflutter, just in time for tea.

Don’t get me wrong, my Ma had begged and pleaded to know who he was, but as I curled up sobbing on my bed, the grazes still on my knees, I couldn’t bear to pick the scab. I was desperate for it to heal.

It had gone two in the morning, when the pain I believed couldn’t get any worse took it upon itself to prove me very, very wrong. I tried to hold off pressing the emergency button at the side of my bed for as long as I could – as the last thing I wanted was to be was more trouble – but to say I were scared doesn’t come close.

Within minutes of the alarm going off, doctors and nurses flocked into the ward, and I guess taking one look at my face they knew something was wrong. Now, I ain’t under the impression that they didn’t care, but I think it was more the thought of a dead fourteen-year-old girl on their hands that made them rush in so fast. Even in my half-conscious state and not exactly being experienced with going through labour, I knew something wasn’t quite right.

I don’t know how many hours had passed, or how many times they had changed the drip, but I knew it had been a while, as it had become light again. In the end, they had to cut me up right there and then and pull you out. As soon as they lifted my baby girl from my tummy, I thought about my Ma and how she chased the matron from the room with the surgical scissors and I knew – when I saw the pinky-blue little girl, my little girl, in the nurse’s arms – exactly how she felt.

Wanting to hold you in my arms, I leaned forward to take you. I held you for a moment, your fingers curled around mine, but before I knew it, the nurse had snipped the cord and walked right out of the room, taking my baby with her. As she walked away, I stared at the door, and there she was, my Ma, staring right at me; but as soon as I caught her eye, she looked away.

The nurse who’d taken you soon returned and I tried to steady myself so that I could hold my little girl, but her arms were empty. In her hand she held only a clipboard and pen and she handed them to my Ma. Hesitating only momentarily, my Ma signed whatever the nurse had passed her. Without giving me a second look, my Ma turned on her heels and walked away.