The Gift by Rebecca Emin

It has been a refreshing summer day in the city, warm but with a slight breeze.  After a light lunch with a friend, I spend the afternoon alone, browsing shops to find a gift. I have twenty pounds in my purse with which to find something. It has to be special so I take my time.

I turn from the main high street into a leafy alley. The next street along is known for it boutiques and gift shops, some of which have items within my budget. I smile as I walk, as I am nearer to finding the perfect gift.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, they strike. They silently grab me from behind, and then instantly encircle, clawing, vice like, and I feel searing pain like never before. This can’t be happening in broad daylight. I release my grip on my purse. I silently will them to take my money and leave me alone. Still the tearing and slicing continues. How long will my body take to surrender? I look at the floor, and the pavement is slowly being covered by liquid. The very lifeblood is leaching out of me. I am not ready for this. My time has not come yet, surely? I will miss out on so much if this is the end right now, on this day.

With that final thought, I fade to black.

***

From a distance, as if through water, I hear the sound of shouting. Closer and closer, they come, then urgent discussion, and thudding footsteps. I sense panic. Too much noise makes my head hurt. I hear a vehicle screech to a halt, and a door slam. Then new, gentle, soothing, voices, and I try to lean towards them. A sense of elevation. I feel an echo of the clawing, ripping pain, and a stabbing sensation in my arm. Surely they have not got to me again? For a fleeting second, I wonder what happened to my purse, and my twenty pounds, but then, the soft voices tell me to relax, followed by the welcome return of the all encompassing darkness.

***

I am drifting but there is no pain now, my body is numb. I feel a sense of movement, yet it is gentle. I hear a distant sound of sirens. I am hopeful that it is not my day today. Perhaps they can help? Then nothingness envelopes me once more.

***

I slowly slide into consciousness. I am not sure what hits me first, the smell of cleaning fluids, or the feeling of nausea. I can’t open my eyes; they feel as if they have something holding them shut. There is absolute silence and then the sound of a blackbird singing a pure, confident song to herald a new day.

The thought of the gift crossed my mind. My purse, my money; did they take everything that was mine? Is someone somewhere sharing a joke as they spend my last twenty pounds? Then I realise I should really be thankful as the sawing, agonising pain has gone and I am still here. I try to move and it feels uncomfortable, but at least I am alive to see another day. I know there is something else I should be considering… something that I can’t quite put my finger on. The medication has taken away my ability to worry about what should have been. I concentrate on the blackbird as it rejoices in song. I have never heard such a beautiful sound.

I hear a door open and swing shut. Doctor Evans introduces himself. I try to open my leaden eyes, and catch a glimpse of a kind face. He says everything is fine, and tells me that I was lucky, but I am confused by this conclusion. I am still pondering his statement, and miss what he is saying about the surgery and stitches. There will be time to ask about that later.

Doctor Evans says that the only words I have spoken as I drifted in and out of consciousness was ‘twenty pounds’. He sounds vaguely amused, but I am not capable of voicing any questions yet. Mentioning rest, the doctor leaves the room and I slumber with the blackbird singing my soundtrack. I focus on the song, and drift into an uneasy doze, full of dreams of unseen attackers peering through woodland landscapes.

The next time I wake it is to the sound of the door swinging shut. A squeaky noise, like a wheel that needs oiling. The blackbird must have given up his post, as I hear nothing else. Then suddenly a tiny sound makes me open my eyes. A noise that is new, yet instantly familiar at the same time. A smiling nurse comes slowly into focus.

There is no more fear, and as I take a sweeping glance around the room, I spot my purse on the bedside cabinet. Realisation of what I have become filters into my mind.

I lean towards the clear plastic bassinet. I just need to hold you now. My son.