Читать книгу Lily Alone: A gripping and emotional drama - Vivien Brown, Vivien Brown - Страница 10

The rain has stopped, but I can’t go out to play. I’m not feeling very well. Mrs Castle has put me to bed with a hot water bottle and my favourite doll. She’s called Betsy, and I think she’s wearing her best yellow dress, but someone has closed the curtains and the room is so dark that I can’t tell for sure. Her small plastic hand feels cold against mine. The room is quiet, but I can hear some of the others talking outside. They sound so far away, almost as if they’re whispering, but I know they’re not. Nobody here ever whispers.

My head hurts and I feel really hot, but I’m shivering with cold. That doesn’t make any sense at all, but I do as I’m told and stay tucked up under the blankets, only reaching my arm out when I want to take a sip from the big beaker of water by my bed. My legs ache as if I’ve been running for miles, but I don’t think I have. Mrs Castle says what I have might be catching, so the others can’t come and see me. I feel very alone in here, but I know Mrs Castle doesn’t mean to be unkind. She’s trying to help me get better, and she usually knows what’s best. She’s not as nice as a real mum, but she’s the next best thing, and I do trust her. I hope I don’t spill the water in the dark and make her cross.

I must have gone to sleep for a while. One of those deep dark sleeps, with no dreams in it. I don’t know how long I was asleep, but when I wake up, something feels different. No, everything feels different.

I can’t move my legs. I try hard but nothing happens. I can tell that Betsy has gone. I can’t feel her hand any more. In the darkness, I try to find her, but I can’t move my arms either. Or my eyes. I can’t open my eyes. Why can’t I open my eyes?

I try to think, try to remember, try to recapture the colour of the yellow in my head. Betsy’s yellow, the brightest happiest yellow ever, but everything’s just black. Black and dark and empty. And I know she’s not here. Betsy.

Is it Betsy I’m searching for? No, not Betsy. Not Betsy at all. Betsy was a long time ago. It’s Lily. Lily was this morning. Where is Lily? I try to call for her, try to speak, but nothing happens. My mouth doesn’t open. My voice doesn’t come.

Where’s Lily? And where am I?