All's Loud on the Western Front | Chapter Three
Thank you again for all of the lovely reviews! They mean a lot. This is your Easter update, so happy Easter, I hope you all have a nice time whatever you're doing x
This chapter is a little less action-y and a little more reflective of everything that's happened to Nicki since Lorraine's suicide. Apologies if you prefer the action, but sometimes I get moaned at for not describing things enough (which is my old teachers' fault, I was always told off for describing things too much when I was little) so here we are.
There were many things about staying in a hospital that made Nicki feel helpless and vulnerable. The backless gowns (which were particularly horrible when you were on a mixed-gender ward), the food, the way there was always somebody screaming, keeping you awake at night.
She didn't understand much of what anyone said here; she felt like a little girl dropped in a foreign country and abandoned. Maybe this was what it had felt like to be an evacuee from Germany during Hitler's reign, the people who loved you thought they were doing the right thing protecting you, and yet you would have preferred to die with them.
By far the worst thing, though, was the fact that she had to be helped to the toilet. How could anything be more humiliating, hanging on until your body ached from holding it in, having to be helped down the ward so that everyone knew exactly where you were going, knowing the nurse was standing outside the cubicle whilst you relieved yourself. It made her skin crawl. Selfish, she knew, when people were dying, but she couldn't help it. She would never, ever tell another student they had to wait until the end of the lesson to go to the toilet again.
"You be released soon," the doctor had told her this morning. She was glad he knew a bit of English, because it felt as though her capacity for speaking French had been drained from her, along with all of her feelings. She was numb, unable to cry; that was dreadful too, like living in a nightmare.
Tom was sitting by her side now. Something else; the way nobody ever knew what to say in hospitals. They could ask how the person felt, they could tell a couple of stories to raise the person's spirits, but then what? It was so very public, like the entire ward was watching their conversation. And even if it had been private, then what did you say? Tom kept saying I'm sorry, over and over again, like that would make it better. It should be her saying sorry. And she did. But those words were empty, I'm sorry, what did that really mean?
"Nicki?" he asked.
She forced herself up onto one elbow, and he automatically plumped up the pillows beneath her. He was so lovely with her, so lovely with everyone. Tears came quickly to her eyes without her wanting them to.
"Oh, Nicki."
"I'm sorry." Again.
"This isn't your fault. Nobody could ever say this was your fault," he said. He was quiet for a few seconds. "You did what so many people wouldn't ever have tried to do, you were so brave. And I know that's alright for me to say, because you'll still feel like shit, I know that, but you couldn't have done anything more."
All this week, it had been 'it'll be okay' and 'you'll be fine', he'd never mentioned the fact that she might not feel okay until now. Somehow it made her feel worse, even though she'd been waiting for someone to finally take the first step and let her pour out her feelings. "I could have fallen instead of her."
"You fell as well. Lorraine–"
First time he'd said her name, too.
"Lorraine was obviously really, really unhappy. And none of us knew that, of course we didn't, she'd hidden it from us."
"Someone should have realised."
"Yes, they should. Someone; how many people are there at Waterloo Road? Anyone could have noticed and done something, and nobody did. We're all to blame for that."
Her head ached. There was the constant pain, a bit like the buzz of a computer or the dripping of a tap in the background, something that was ceaseless inside of her, becoming part of her. Then there was the shots of agony whenever she moved, like someone was firing tiny metal bullets into her skull, and they were shattering, and some of them were also hitting her heart and piercing deep inside of her.
Did other people feel like this, so empty and yet so overwhelmingly full of anger and bitterness and pain? Was it just because she was an English teacher? Maybe if it had been Chalky here, he would have spent his time doing Sudoku rather than sniffling into a handkerchief. But she wouldn't wish this on him.
"Lorraine's body was flown back to the UK yesterday. I know Michael was with her parents when– well, and Tanya, and they asked him to make sure you were thanked for what you'd tried to do. When things get a bit easier, I'm sure they'll want to talk to you personally."
"Easier," she mumbled, to nobody.
"Everyone asks after you all the time," he continued, more lightly, his eyes still on hers. She could feel it, the way her face burned under his gaze, although she was looking away. "Chalky and Grantly; they didn't want to overwhelm you by coming, but they're delighted you're recovering so well."
How could anyone feel delighted at a time like this?
"Imogen and Connor always check how you are, and Kevin and Kacey, pretty much everyone really."
She could imagine them talking about her around the breakfast table. Were they eating croissants? It was always funny to think how things went on without you, when you weren't there. Had Lorraine considered that before she jumped? Had she thought about what she was leaving behind? How much it was going to tear Nicki apart to know she hadn't been able to save her?
She'd said "I'm sorry". It was like she thought those two little words would mean something to Nicki once she'd gone, like they'd heal the wounds. Tom seemed to think the same. It meant nothing.
"And Scout."
Nicki looked at him. "How is she?"
"She's doing okay."
Evidently she wasn't so weak that he didn't get the meaning of the glare she gave him.
"She's upset. Of course she's upset, she went through a lot. She went on that thing where you talk to someone on the internet, where the boxes with your faces pop up, and it's like having a conversation?"
"Skype."
"Yeah, she Skyped Maggie. I think it'll be better for her once she's back home, and things start to return to normality. And obviously when she's seen you. She keeps asking if she can come with me to see you, but I didn't think that would be the best idea. Unless you–"
"It's ruined the trip for them."
Tom smiled the sort of smile that teachers perfected over the years, the smile that Nicki was learning now. The one that meant 'inside I want to cry'. "They're young, they'll have other opportunities. I think it's more important that you think about getting better."
Why did she feel so angry towards Tom when he was only trying to help? She just wanted to hit him; she probably would hit him if she was strong enough. She didn't want to think about getting better, she wanted Lorraine back.
And Scout, she wanted to see her so much, to hold her. And yet she wasn't sure she wanted to see her ever again.
"I need the toilet, Tom."
"Oh, okay, do you want me to–"
"No," she said, "Just get a nurse."
The nurse helped her along the corridor to the bathroom. Nicki could hear her standing right outside the door, humming something. When she opened the cubicle door, the nurse gave her an enquiring look, but she just shook her head. It was pretty obvious that she'd just been sick, and it was even more obvious that she didn't want to talk about it.
That was a nice thing about being in a foreign country; nobody asked difficult questions, because it was too hard to work out how to translate what you wanted to say. Maybe that was why Tom angered her, because he did ask those questions. She always pushed away the people she cared most for. Welcome to the lonely world of Nicki Boston.
When she got back to bed, Tom had gone. The nurse brought her a meal of some description, and she stirred it around with her knife until it looked suitably half-eaten, before curling up and sleeping. Lorraine was screaming, Scout was screaming. Tears were running silently down Tom's cheek, and questions were flying out of his mouth, jumbled up. She didn't even get any peace in her dreams.
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