Nanny

When she came home after 2 days she couldn’t understand why everyone was so quiet around her. Eggshells were being carefully tiptoed on and Sarah just couldn’t fathom why. Even Mrs Fleming from next door was being nice, leaning on the garden gate and asking how she was doing, calling her love, instead of pulling back the net curtain just enough to make sure Sarah didn’t step into her garden.

The accident had been wiped from Sarah’s memory the very moment the car left the road. The blur of twisted metal and sirens was completely gone, taken from her hippocampus as a way of blocking out the images. When she woke up in the stiff white sheets of the hospital bed mum and dad stood over her, regarding the beeping machines and array of tubes dolefully as if their presence was harmful rather than life saving. She was a resilient child – she had always been something of a tom boy – and after two days of observations and a plaster cast on her fractured left arm she was sent home to stay with Nanny Bridgeman.

Nanny Bridgeman sat at her bedside when she was falling asleep and pushed her untidy fringe back from the bruises on her face. She made her tea with two sugars in it and let her sleep in every morning if Sarah wanted to. She shook her head when she thought Sarah wasn’t looking and sighed when Sarah talked to her mum and dad about the accident, seeking something to fill in the gaps left by her stolen memory.

Staying with Nanny was strange, especially when her own house was just round the corner, but she enjoyed being fussed over. Sunday lunch turned into a feast of stew and dumplings and she was even allowed ice cream; a treat she wouldn’t have been allowed at home. Mum and dad accepted this was part of her healing process and didn’t say anything about all that sugar and cream for a change. Sarah could get used to being spoiled like this. At least she could if she wasn’t looking forward to going home so much.

After a week with Nanny Sarah started to ask more questions, putting into words those thoughts that had been trampling around in her head for so long. She still felt like a fish out of water, sleeping in this creaky house with its patterned bedspread and draughty windows. It wasn’t where she belonged. It felt rude to ask her grandma when she’d be going home; an insult to her warm welcome and even warmer cooking. Nanny Bridgeman just looked at her, the colour draining from her soft skinned face. Sarah felt ashamed that she’d upset Nanny by suggesting that she had felt anything but loved staying here with her. But she knew she should be at home with mum and dad. Nanny took Sarah’s smooth unlined hand in hers and said “but Sarah. You can’t go back. Mummy and daddy aren’t there, remember. They died in the accident”.

Sarah’s world folded inwards upon itself, a kaleidoscope of colours making her head hurt for a second as she played back the images she had collected since she had woken up in that starchy bed. In all those memories of her mum and dad watching over her they never said a word.