Free Guilt Trip by Maggy Farrell

about then?”
    Dad spoke for me: “Oh, just too many people
packed into a small space.”
    I was relieved to hear him say it like
that: a simple explanation without any reference to the accident. Maybe
everything would be okay after all.
    “Right…” Luke hesitated. “Anything I can
do?”
    “Well…” Dad began. “I did say she should
get some room service. You see I have to go out for this dinner…” He turned to
me and shook his head. “No - it’s no good, Mel, I can’t leave you like this…”
    “I’m fine!”
    “No. It’s not right.”
    “I’ll be fine!”
    “We’ll keep an eye on her,” Luke said. “Don’t
you worry.”
    “Well…” Dad reached for his jacket.
      “We don’t usually do room service,” Luke
said, “but I’m sure we could make an exception.”
    “No, it’s okay, thanks. I’m not hungry,” I
said, not wanting to make a fuss.
    “Well - maybe later then,” he said, turning
to leave. “You know where we are if you need anything.”
    Dad came over and kissed the top of my head.
“Take it easy, honey,” he said. “I’ll try not to be too late.”

 
    <><><>
 
 
    There was nothing on TV - nothing I could
get into anyway - so I spent the next hour just lying there, bored, but too
tired to do anything about it.
    At about eight o’clock, there was a gentle
knock and Sandy stuck her head round the door.
    “You awake, love?” she whispered.
    I put on a fake smile. “Sure. Come in.”
    She was carrying a tray. “Cheese toastie
with coleslaw on the side and an apple juice. Compliments of the boss,” she announced,
placing it on the bedside table. “So…feeling any better?”
    “Just a bit tired, really,” I said. “And maybe
a bit cold.”
    She came closer to me then and felt my
forehead, plumping my pillows, fussing around me like a mother hen.
    “Sandy…” I said tentatively. I knew fine
well I shouldn’t pry but couldn’t help myself. Luke’s reaction earlier in the
bar had made me curious. “Do you know anything about an accident? Only someone
mentioned it in the market and said her mum was a waitress here.”
    “Oh yes,” she said, her tone suddenly
hushed, almost reverent, “- you mean the girl who died?”
    “She died?”
    “Yes - it was tragic. Everyone was
devastated apparently. They lived in you know. Great friends of Luke’s family.”
    A great friend of the family who’d died? Then
no wonder Luke hadn’t liked me asking about it. I cringed afresh at how it must
have looked - me idly gossiping about something which had brought his family
such grief.
    I wanted to ask Sandy for more details, but
didn’t know how. I didn’t want her to think badly of me too.
    But now she was starting for the door. “Anyway,
I’d better be getting back to it, love,” she said. “You take care.”
    And then she was gone.
    I looked at the food on the tray. I wasn’t
really hungry, but I picked at it anyway. I didn’t want Luke to think me
ungrateful on top of everything else. After all, it had been sweet of him to
think of me.

 
    <><><>
 
 
    Half an hour later, there was another knock
at the door.
    “Come in?”
    It was Luke.
    He stood, looking in, his lean body filling
the doorway.
    “So - how are you feeling?” he asked.
    “Not so bad.”
    There was a silence made uncomfortable by
the fact that I was all too aware that this was a bedroom. And that this time,
we were alone.
    “Thanks for the food,” I said, more to fill
the gap than anything.
    He smiled, glancing over at my plate: “All
done?”
    I nodded.
    “I’ll just remove this, then,” he said, crossing
the threshold now, coming into the room, over to where the tray lay, on the
table next to the bed.
    Beside it was a framed photo.
    “This your Mum?” he asked, looking at it.
    I nodded. It was a black-and-white one
taken by Dad. Mum was standing outside a hospital, smiling. It had been taken
on April 22 nd , forty weeks before my birth, the day I was made in my
petri dish