Isolated. M. A. Hunter

right now and see the state of her leg. ‘Yes, please. I’m going to shower and then I’ll be down.’

      There was no response but the tell-tale sound of footfalls on the stairs confirmed her mum was on her way to the kitchen. That just left her dad to sneak past. His routine was like clockwork and, all things being equal, he’d now be sitting in the small toilet reading one of his angling magazines. But he wouldn’t remain in there for ever, which only offered Natalie a finite amount of time to get out of bed and into the bathroom without anyone catching her. The trouble was, she didn’t think her injured limb would be up to bearing her weight this morning.

      What was the alternative?

      Delicately swinging her left leg over the edge of the mattress, she lifted and shifted her right leg with her hands again, wincing as the bandage brushed against the bed frame. Then, with another deep breath, she pushed herself off the mattress and planted both feet on the thick pile rug where her slippers, trainers, and pile of school uniform sat. She couldn’t help the gasp escaping her mouth, but with her door shut and her parents otherwise engaged, she could only hope neither had heard.

      Her grandmother used to say that pain in an injury was the body’s way of saying it was healing; Natalie was certain that was a crock, but if there was some truth in the old lady’s words, then her body had to be working overtime to heal. Bearing most of her weight on her left leg, Natalie reached out for her chair and rested her right hand on its back, pushing it along as a makeshift Zimmer frame as she made it towards her bedroom door; she wouldn’t be able to use it beyond her bedroom without drawing unnecessary attention, but it would do the job for now. Finally, making it to the door, she slowly lowered the handle and peered out, her eyes searching for the figure of her father whilst her ears strained for any hint of where he might be.

      Neither sense alerted her to his presence and, venturing forward, she used the wallpapered wall to support her journey forward, only pausing momentarily when the sound of pages being turned confirmed her dad’s presence in the toilet. Continuing to the bathroom, she closed and locked the door. relief sweeping through her. Perching on the edge of the bathtub, she raised her nightdress and began very slowly and delicately to unwind the strapping. The bandage crackled and pulled as the congealed bloodstains cracked and tore until she was down to the final wraparound, but she had to stop as the tugging brought tears to her eyes.

      The healing process had resulted in the clot binding with the bandage and there was no way to remove it without restarting the bleeding, but Natalie didn’t think she had the strength to complete the deed without screaming and wailing.

      Her grandmother would have told her just to yank it off like any other Band-Aid, but even the gentlest of pulls was too much to bear. And then she remembered another trick the old lady had taught her when she was younger: it was far easier to remove plasters when they were covered by water, on account of the glue becoming less adhesive. There was no guarantee the same logic applied to a bloodied bandage, but what did she have to lose?

      Manoeuvring her injured leg over the side of the bath, she used the large handle her dad had installed for Grandma to pull herself into a standing position, and brought her left leg in to join her right. Then, switching on the shower, she shrieked as a hard spray of cold water hit her upper body like winter’s rain. It soon warmed up and, lifting down the shower hose, she targeted the spray onto the stubborn strapping, giving it another gentle tug every few seconds, until the whole thing dropped into the tub with a splosh. The sight of the bloodied hole was still a shock, but as the shower spray continued to work its miraculous magic, the wound began to look less threatening. Her calf muscle was definitely swollen to almost twice the size of its rival but she’d managed to avoid fresh bleeding, and as she switched off the shower and climbed back out of the tub, she would have argued that the leg was slightly less painful than when she’d woken too.

      Raiding the medicine cabinet, she located the box of plasters and, selecting the largest square one, she pressed it firmly over the wound and limped back to her bedroom, just as the sound of a flushing toilet signalled her dad’s imminent exit.

      He didn’t speak as he emerged, just closed the door behind him, folding and tucking the magazine beneath his arm and waddling slightly as he returned to his own room, oblivious of the towel-wrapped and dripping girl edging slowly across the landing. Her mum always said he couldn’t be relied on for anything until he’d had his first coffee of the day.

      Back in her room, Natalie dressed, opting for a thick pair of black tights to cover evidence of the plaster, and, having wrung out the bandage in the bathroom basin, she stuffed it into her school bag, before zipping it up, and hoping that a) her mum wouldn’t look inside the bag, and b) the moist bandage wouldn’t dampen her books too much.

      Arriving in the kitchen, Natalie could hear her mum talking on the phone in the other room, but her dad was already at the breakfast table munching burnt toast with a snarl across his lips. Just a typical breakfast in the Sullivan household. The radio in the background was playing some hit from the 80s – a decade of music Natalie didn’t personally care for but which her mum adored. Natalie couldn’t understand how grown-ups couldn’t appreciate modern music; even the older songs both her parents frequently crooned along to must have been new at one point in time, so they couldn’t always have been so stuck in the past. Why couldn’t they listen to normal music?

      Reaching for the Shreddies, Natalie filled her bowl, before asking her dad to pass the milk. He sighed as he did, as if her request was the most challenging task in the world. He’d obviously got up on the wrong side of bed again this morning, but it seemed like he didn’t know any other way these days. She knew it was safer just to keep her head down and avoid drawing his attention.

      Her mum’s voice in the other room grew louder, but Natalie couldn’t work out what she was saying, or to whom. Either way, it didn’t sound like it was good news she was receiving. A moment later, her mum came into the kitchen, clutching the phone in her hand but pointing it at Natalie.

      ‘I’ve just got off the phone with Diane Curtis, Sally’s mum,’ she said, her tone somewhere between anger and concern. ‘Seems Sally wasn’t in her bed this morning when Diane went to wake her. She’s phoning around everyone to see if anyone knows where Sally might be.’

      There wasn’t an obvious question, but Natalie knew to infer that an answer was expected. Slowly swallowing her mouthful of cereal to buy some time, Natalie opted for ignorance. ‘I don’t know where Sally is.’

      She hated lying to her parents, particularly her mum, but it wasn’t exactly a lie; she genuinely didn’t know where Sally was. Not now.

      Here mum’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know she’s your friend, and the last thing you’d want to do is get your friend into trouble, but her mum is going spare with worry. If you have any idea where she might be, or what might have happened, you need to tell me, Natalie.’

      ‘I told you I don’t know, Mum.’ The lie felt like a mound of earth she’d just brought up and out of her throat.

      ‘Well, Diane said Sally was tucked up in bed when she checked on her at eleven, and then again at five this morning, but now she’s gone.’

      Natalie couldn’t keep the confused frown from developing, but tried not to give anything away. If her mum had seen her in bed at five this morning, did that mean…?

      ‘What?’ her mum asked. ‘Do you know where she is? Or where she was planning to go?’

      ‘No, Mum.’

      ‘Swear to me.’

      This was the last thing Natalie wanted to do. It would be so much easier just to admit the truth: they’d snuck out, left the safe confines of the garrison, and headed into the woods. She could tell her mum how it had all been Sally’s idea, and that Louise and Jane had pressured her into joining them; she could tell her mum how she’d fallen and hurt her leg and then her mum would make everything better. But then Natalie remembered Louise’s slap and pact warning, and instead shovelled another mouthful of cereal into her mouth.

      ‘I swear I don’t know where Sally Curtis is.’