The Things I Should Have Told You. Carmel Harrington

this house. My whole life is a freaking sideshow.

      ‘Get lost, Jamie,’ I shout and he backs away, but he looks relieved. I know what he’s doing. He keeps checking up on me to make sure I’m alive. He thought I was dead when he found me. And now he’s worried that I’ll die too – like Pops. I hope he knows I’m sorry. I hate that I’ve upset him. He’s just a kid.

      He might run around like a Duracell bunny all day and I suppose you could be fooled into thinking he was fine. But at night I know he’s scared. That’s why he’s wetting the bed again. That’s when I get scared too. That’s when I can’t switch off. That’s when I think that my brain is about to explode.

      I wish I could cry. But I just feel numb most of the time. Is that normal? Everyone else seems to be crying on and off every day since Pops died. But the tears won’t come for me.

      Mam keeps asking me how I’m doing. But she doesn’t really want to know the answer. She just wants me to say, fine, then she can sigh with relief and move on. I wonder sometimes what she’d say if I answered her truthfully. What if I just said, hey Mam, there’s this pressure in my brain, in my stomach, in my hands and fingers that is building up so much that I think I’m going to explode. It hurts so much. Any minute now, boom, I’m gonna blow like a grenade.

      I can feel their eyes on me all the time, watching me. I know they are worried. But I can’t cope. I just want to pretend it never happened. Problem is, I can’t get away from it. My mind has it all on loop and keeps going back over and over it all. That moment when I realised I was in hospital, I’ll never forget.

       They think I’m asleep. I’m afraid to speak, afraid of what they will say to me. I’ve been so stupid. The doctor has a clipboard in his hand, all official-like. He looks tired. Like he’s not slept in days. I sympathise because I feel exhausted too. And I’m sore all over. What’s that about?

       They all look super-serious standing side by side, facing the doctor. I know I must be sick, because I’m in hospital, I certainly feel crap, but their faces, all kind of grey and pinched, scare me. At least Jamie is asleep on a chair in the corner. I don’t want him to see me like this.

       The doc sounds really cross, it makes the hairs on my arms stand upright. ‘Your daughter has more than five times the legal limit of alcohol in her system. Enough to kill a grown man. She’s lucky to be alive.’

       His words hang in the air like an accusation and nobody speaks for the longest time. I close my eyes tight and for a moment wish that I’d died earlier on. I don’t want to hear any more about the mess I’ve made of everything. But the urge to look is too strong and I peep out through my eyelashes at the drama that is unfolding. Drama that I caused. Shit, shit, shit. I’m in so much trouble.

       The shock has rendered them speechless. Mam has this weird look, like she is about to speak, but she can’t get the words out. I look at the doctor, trying to get a lead on what he’s about to say. Does his countenance have the look of one about to bear bad news? Maybe. What if I’m going to die? What if I’ve done serious damage to myself? Now that the thought takes root, I realise that I don’t want to die, I want to be back home in my bedroom, reading a book. I look at the door and for a second consider bolting for it. But I’m hooked up to drips. I’m not going anywhere.

       ‘She’s going to be okay, though?’ Mam pleads and I’m shocked by her tone. She sounds desperate. I think Dad is half holding her up.

       The doc looks at his clipboard once more but doesn’t answer her straight away. I don’t like him very much. I think he’s enjoying the power of it all.

       ‘Give me another chance. Please give me another chance. Please don’t take our baby away,’ Mam mutters. I don’t think she realises that she’s speaking out loud.

       Oh Mam, don’t cry. I’m sorry.

       The doctor’s face softens a bit and he clears his throat, ‘She’s stable.’

       I’m okay. Oh. My. God. I’m okay.

       ‘When will she wake up?’ Mam asks.

       ‘Any time now.’ He gives a brief smile, but as quick as it appears, the frown returns.

       I realise I haven’t taken a breath for a long time because I feel a bit faint. I exhale, just in time to hear the doctor sharing, ‘Her alcohol blood level was 0.40. Do you know how many drinks that means Evie must have consumed?’

       Oh boy, that doesn’t sound too good. They shake their heads in unison, their mouths lolling open. They look ridiculous and I feel awful, ’cos I know this is all my bad.

       ‘I was only gone for two hours. I don’t understand how she could have gotten into such a state in such a short space of time,’ Dad tells him.

       Mam throws a look of disgust at him. My bad once again.

       ‘Evie said she wanted to stay at home and finish her homework, she didn’t want to come with us to the cinema. I’d promised to bring Jamie as a treat because he nailed that Irish test,’ he explains, looking like he could cry any minute.

       Pops murmurs something to him. I can’t catch what it is. But it seems to help because he doesn’t start blubbering.

       ‘Will you shut up for a minute and let the doctor talk?’ Mam snaps. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to start fighting again. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should tell them I’m awake, to divert a row.

       ‘Mae,’ Pops snaps.

       ‘I’m sorry, we are all under a bit of strain right now.’ Mam does look sorry to be fair. ‘We had no idea that Evie drank. As far as we both know, she’s never had so much as an alcopop before in her life. How much alcohol are you talking about?’

       ‘Our best estimation is that your daughter had at least thirteen units in quick succession,’ he states.

       Did I have that many? I can’t really remember how many I put into the glass. They kept telling me to put more in.

       ‘How the hell is that possible?’ Mam says to Dad.

       I remember putting the gin and whiskey into the glass. Oh damn, I put some wine from the fridge in too. It tasted horrible. Like petrol. Only I’ve never tasted petrol, but I bet it tastes exactly like my stupid cocktail did.

       ‘As I said, she’s lucky to be alive. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’ He walks out, but not before I catch the look of reproach on his face. Thing is, I don’t feel so lucky right now.

       ‘I was only gone for two hours,’ Dad repeats and he walks towards me.

       I’m so sorry, Dad. Don’t be upset. It’s not your fault. It was all mine.

       ‘We’ve gathered that!’ Mam says. Here we go again. Ding dong! Round nine hundred and nighty-nine between my folks.

       I jump when Pops speaks, his voice raised in anger. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? This is not the time to throw punches at each other. You and Olly need to pull together. For Evie and Jamie, if you can’t do it for each other.’

       I close my eyes quickly, before anyone notices that I am awake. Sleep, I need to sleep some more, I can’t deal with this. With them.

      I still can’t deal with it all. It’s not fair. I hear people talking about getting ‘black-outs’ after they have drunk too much. Why can’t I black out that whole nightmare, then? I jump off the bed. I need to get out of this house. Damn it. I sit back down on the end of the bed. What’s the point? I’ve