Read Online The Visitors by Rebecca Mascull - Free Book Online Page B

for me to go home. Lottie helps me dress. Father comes and I can tell he wants to embrace me heartily but he is careful with me as if I were thin china. I am taken to the door. Here I ask for Dr Knapp and he is there. He shakes my hand.
    I instruct Lottie: ‘Please tell him thank you very much for me.’
    ‘He says you are very welcome.’
    ‘Say well done for being so careful with the knife.’
    Lottie puts her hand on its side in my palm and wobbles it. This is our sign for laughter. I think I amused the doctor.
    Father escorts me to the coach. It is much more comfortable than the London cabs; it has softer seats and is less bouncy. A thick blanket is placed around my legs and we begin our long journey home. The coach sways on southwards from the capital through Surrey and into Kent. I have slept most of the way and am grumpy on waking. I burrow my head into Father’s sleeve.
    I feel Mother’s hand. She has come to welcome me.
    ‘You should be in bed,’ I say, as the late sun is cooling.
    ‘Not me, you. Come and rest,’ replies Mother.
    I do not need help to walk but there are many hands around me. I am cared for. I am led to my bedroom where, exhausted by the journey, I sleep deeply. I must remain in my darkened room for another week, black blinds and heavy curtains at the windows. I cannot sense anything behind these bandages. I used to be able at least to perceive sunlight, and I miss its warmth. I am more in the dark than ever.
    I recover well. Everyone is thrilled that I have not developed an infection, that the pain in my eyes has receded after only a day or two. I am healthy and happy. Soon, I am bored in my room, bored of sewing and knitting. I ask for lessons again with Lottie. We are learning arithmetic using a special metal frame made for the blind. It helps me count and add numbers. We read the book called
Mental Arithmetic
and a problem may say, ‘If a boy buys five apples and has six friends …’ and so on. And I say to Lottie, ‘But why does the boy buy the apples? Why does he not go scrumping with his friends? And why does he not buy enough apples? Is he not a bad boy to forget one friend so?’ Lottie laughs at my questions, but I become vexed. I am wearisome when learning arithmetic. I am forgetful and my thoughts waste. I frown so much my head aches. I say to Lottie, ‘Are you not very tired of living? Does your heart not tire of beating? Does your head not tire of thinking?’
    Lottie says, ‘Let’s end our lessons for today. You can stop thinking now.’
    ‘How can I stop? Can I close my think as you close your eyes?’
    ‘Let me explain,’ says Lottie.
    I say, ‘No more today. My think is tired.’
    When Lottie is not here, I wish to talk with the Visitors. But I cannot, as my eyes cannot open. I am very curious about them now that I know there are others. I want to ask them:
Why do you stay here? Why did you not come with me to London? I met other Visitors on my journey. Do you know them? Are you sure you do not know your name? Why do you not visit Lottie or Father? What do you want with me?
    I predict they will never answer my questions, only prattle on about their obsession. I understand them a little more these days. I have an obsession of my own now: my eyes. Every day I use my number frame to count down the days remaining until the bandages are removed. Dr Knapp is coming all the way from London to be there. If I had my choice, I would go to a quiet corner of the garden all on my own and take them off. I do not want an audience. If I have failed I want to find out alone, and will hate the pity of others. But Father will not allow it. It has to be executed with care and the doctor must do tests.
    The day is here. Father, Mother and Dr Knapp assemble in my bedroom. The air is stuffy with their breath and expectations. The black blinds have been removed and the curtains are opened. I sit on my hard-backed chair, where Nanny used to tie me. Now I wait upon it for the most important