"It's your Mum."
The phone was ringing again. Connie held it out to her, but Rita splayed out her hands as though she were surrendering, and shook her head. She didn't say anything, but her lips were pursed and her eyes glittered. The panic was beginning to rise. She was running through everyone in her phone book. Her mum, her dad...her friends, work colleagues...
"Rita?"
Connie placed her free hand on Rita's shoulder.
"Are you going to-"
"Just turn it off."
Rita's voice was low and choked. She touched her fingertips to her lips, one hand on her hip, thinking...wondering what to do.
The phone call cut off and immediately began to ring again, this time flashing up with 'Dad'.
"Rita..."
"Can you just turn it off!"
Rita exclaimed, the sudden loudness of her voice peaking Grace's interest, and again she slipped her hand across the table to lower the volume, a motion which didn't go unnoticed by the nurse.
"Please..."
Rita added, glancing quickly to Connie before turning to Grace. She pressed her palms down on the table. She was at the opposite end, the length of the table before her. She leant heavily against it, looking at Grace, waiting for her to look up.
"Look at me."
She spoke loudly so that Grace would hear her, her heart throbbing painfully within her throat. But Grace ignored her. She sat, unmoving, listening to her music.
Connie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Without even looking across at her daughter she knew she was to blame.
"Look at me!"
Rita leant lower against the table, her words seemed tight in her chest and she struggled to draw in a breath. She felt Connie's hand at the small of her back.
"Let me speak to her..."
She whispered, instinctively she knew that Grace wouldn't respond. She was stubborn, and right now she was fearless with an inner rage – a rage against her.
Without another word Rita backed away from the table. Her face was pale and her eyes appeared even larger, and even darker as she watched Grace. In that moment she hated the little girl who sat before her, her lips a smug line, her eyebrows raised slightly in satisfaction.
She turned sharply and made her way into the hallway. She knew Connie would follow her, and when she paused at the door to push her feet into her boots she wasn't surprised to see the outline of Connie standing in the door frame, her hands by her sides, her lips dry and parted.
"Where are you going?"
She asked quietly. Rita glanced across at her as she tied her laces, pulling them so tight that they hurt her ankles.
"Work."
She answered flatly. She tied a double knot in the first lace and moved on to the second. Connie glanced at the clock on the wall behind her, though she knew the time.
"It's too early..."
"A walk then."
Rita finished tying the second shoe and stood up. She reached for her coat that hung on the wooden coat pegs by the door, pulling it on roughly, shrugging her shoulders as she drew it about herself.
"Rita, please..."
Connie began to move towards her but Rita just held out her hands, her back to the door. There was nothing to say. There was nothing Connie could say that would change her mind. She just needed to breathe. She needed the rush of ice cold air within her lungs to clear her head.
Silently she let her hands fall, and she opened the front door, slipped through, and closed it firmly behind her.
Connie exhaled and closed her eyes. She felt flat, limp – unable to follow.
From the kitchen she could hear the faint thump-thump of Grace's music. Had she listened to music at her age? She couldn't remember. She stood there, in the door frame, counting back the years to 1977, when she would have been Grace's age. She remembered her fathers hatred of disco music, she remembered ABBA...Rod Stewart...Elton John...
She bit down on her bottom lip.
The music dimmed and the rhythm paused, and changed, softer now, somewhat familiar.
It took all of the strength she had to turn back into the kitchen. Silently she made her way – barefoot over the cold floor. She sat down at Grace's side, the little girl remained silent.
"Grace?"
She saw the flicker of a frown between her eyes.
"I need to speak to you."
She tried again but still Grace remained silent. She held her breath, struggling to keep her cool, knowing that it was more important now, than it ever was.
"Why did you do it..."
She whispered. She had assumed that Grace wouldn't hear, but the little girls lips twitched into a satisfied smile, one eyebrow raised in an expression Connie recognised as her own. She felt herself break. She almost felt the snap of the switch within her and she stood up so quickly that Grace looked up at her without meaning to.
"Grace! I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen to me now-"
Before she could finish Grace sighed elaborately and once more she reached to turn up the volume, but before she could, Connie snatched the Ipod from the table, wrenching the earphones from Grace's ears.
"LISTEN!"
She bought the little music player up, and threw it so hard at the wall that it shattered. The earphones spiralled out wildly before impact, the screen splintered and bled, the music blared and then cut out altogether.
"I HATE you."
Grace pushed her chair back so hard that it toppled over backwards.
"And I HATE her."
She hissed, as she stormed from the room.
-.-
More later... :) xxx