at her briefly and floated away like roadsigns at night. Packing bows into plastic bags, her mother stitching stuffed toys, the television on loudly.
Emergency-Ward 10
. Vietnam. Hancock. Alf Garnett.
Juke Box Jury
.
Bonanza. Peyton Place
. Kennedy was shot. Churchill was buried. Screeching Chinamen burned books. Man landed on the moon. She could smell the carpet of the sitting room floor where she lay for hours, dressing her doll, tending it, making it better when it was ill, the doll that needed her, depended on her, rolled its eyes obediently, gratefully. Florence Doll. Princess Margaret married Anthony Armstrong Jones. Florence Doll got married too. The ceremony was even grander. Florence Doll married Binky Bear who was the Head of the World.
‘Your tenth birthday, Charley.’
The memory was indistinct. She was becoming aware of the room, aware of the hypnotist, and felt a trace of disappointment. She lay in silence for a moment, ‘I think I’m awake,’ she said.
‘Your tenth birthday, Charley,’ he repeated.
Damp animal smells filled her nostrils. ‘The zoo. London Zoo …’ Her voice trailed off. She floated in silence again. She opened her eyes. The microphone was a blur and her whole body seemed weighted down with sandbags.
‘Can you remember your fourth birthday?’
‘
You careless girl! You stupid, stupid, careless girl
.’
‘He’s shouting at me.’
‘Who is shouting at you?’
‘My dad.’
‘Why is he shouting at you?’
‘I rode — bicycle — I got a red bicycle — into a bush. He’s going to spank me and lock me in my room. My mum’s crying. She’s telling him it’s my birthday, but he’s still going to lock me in. It’s the pills he’s on. Mum says the pills for his illness make him angry.’
Tiredness drained her. Time faded. She was floating. It was pitch dark. She was scared. She tried to wake. She could not. She tried to sit up. Nothing moved.
‘Relax, Charley.’
Her body and the darkness seemed to merge together.
‘We’re going back now, Charley, we’re going back a long way further.’ His calm voice drifted around her, seemed to fill her like air. ‘We’re going to go back now to before you were born. You are floating in darkness, floating in space, in the void, all is calm, peaceful, you have no worries, Charley, you are in spirit now, free, weightless, free of life.’
Dark silence carried her.
‘You are in spirit now. You have a complete set of memories. The clock is running backwards. You are free to search for a memory in all time.’
The darkness swirled.
‘Think about your previous life now, Charley. Remember your death. Remember how you died.’
Fear tightened around her. She began spinning, helpless, spinning in draining water, faster and faster like an insect being drawn down to the plughole; she was fighting, flailing, arms slithering, spinning faster still, being sucked down, down.
Then she was in brilliant white light. Sunlight, beating down, hard, tormenting her, sunlight pressing her against the hill, trying to crush her into the hill, to stub her out on it. Sadness filled her. An immense weight of sadness, and despair.
‘Where are you?’
‘On an ’ill.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I dunno.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Do you have brothers or sisters? Parents?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Do you recognise the hill?’
‘No.’
‘What’s the colour of your hair?’
She pulled some strands out with her fingers. ‘Brown.’
‘Are you working? At school?’
‘I dunno. I don’t want to be here.’
‘I presume you’ve had education? Where did you go to school?’
She looked up. She could see clouds through the trees. Tears were sliding down her face.
‘Why are you crying?’
The ground was soft under her feet, too soft. She was sinking in. She stepped forwards and her left foot came free with a squelch. Her right foot was stuck. She pulled and it came out of her shoe, leaving that behind. She knelt
Emergency-Ward 10
. Vietnam. Hancock. Alf Garnett.
Juke Box Jury
.
Bonanza. Peyton Place
. Kennedy was shot. Churchill was buried. Screeching Chinamen burned books. Man landed on the moon. She could smell the carpet of the sitting room floor where she lay for hours, dressing her doll, tending it, making it better when it was ill, the doll that needed her, depended on her, rolled its eyes obediently, gratefully. Florence Doll. Princess Margaret married Anthony Armstrong Jones. Florence Doll got married too. The ceremony was even grander. Florence Doll married Binky Bear who was the Head of the World.
‘Your tenth birthday, Charley.’
The memory was indistinct. She was becoming aware of the room, aware of the hypnotist, and felt a trace of disappointment. She lay in silence for a moment, ‘I think I’m awake,’ she said.
‘Your tenth birthday, Charley,’ he repeated.
Damp animal smells filled her nostrils. ‘The zoo. London Zoo …’ Her voice trailed off. She floated in silence again. She opened her eyes. The microphone was a blur and her whole body seemed weighted down with sandbags.
‘Can you remember your fourth birthday?’
‘
You careless girl! You stupid, stupid, careless girl
.’
‘He’s shouting at me.’
‘Who is shouting at you?’
‘My dad.’
‘Why is he shouting at you?’
‘I rode — bicycle — I got a red bicycle — into a bush. He’s going to spank me and lock me in my room. My mum’s crying. She’s telling him it’s my birthday, but he’s still going to lock me in. It’s the pills he’s on. Mum says the pills for his illness make him angry.’
Tiredness drained her. Time faded. She was floating. It was pitch dark. She was scared. She tried to wake. She could not. She tried to sit up. Nothing moved.
‘Relax, Charley.’
Her body and the darkness seemed to merge together.
‘We’re going back now, Charley, we’re going back a long way further.’ His calm voice drifted around her, seemed to fill her like air. ‘We’re going to go back now to before you were born. You are floating in darkness, floating in space, in the void, all is calm, peaceful, you have no worries, Charley, you are in spirit now, free, weightless, free of life.’
Dark silence carried her.
‘You are in spirit now. You have a complete set of memories. The clock is running backwards. You are free to search for a memory in all time.’
The darkness swirled.
‘Think about your previous life now, Charley. Remember your death. Remember how you died.’
Fear tightened around her. She began spinning, helpless, spinning in draining water, faster and faster like an insect being drawn down to the plughole; she was fighting, flailing, arms slithering, spinning faster still, being sucked down, down.
Then she was in brilliant white light. Sunlight, beating down, hard, tormenting her, sunlight pressing her against the hill, trying to crush her into the hill, to stub her out on it. Sadness filled her. An immense weight of sadness, and despair.
‘Where are you?’
‘On an ’ill.’
‘How old are you?’
‘I dunno.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Do you have brothers or sisters? Parents?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Do you recognise the hill?’
‘No.’
‘What’s the colour of your hair?’
She pulled some strands out with her fingers. ‘Brown.’
‘Are you working? At school?’
‘I dunno. I don’t want to be here.’
‘I presume you’ve had education? Where did you go to school?’
She looked up. She could see clouds through the trees. Tears were sliding down her face.
‘Why are you crying?’
The ground was soft under her feet, too soft. She was sinking in. She stepped forwards and her left foot came free with a squelch. Her right foot was stuck. She pulled and it came out of her shoe, leaving that behind. She knelt
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