How long have I been here?

“How long have I been here?”

I must have only said it in my head, for when I opened my mouth it formed no words.

I had to try again. I had to try harder.

“Hhhehhh…,” just a whisper but the sound nearly suffocated me. No one would be able to hear that. And no one would be able to help if they didn’t hear me or find me.

And I had to get help, or I would die here. Someone must be nearby; someone must hear me! I tried again, no sound nor words.

Panic came over me. Nerves at the nape of my neck tingled, the echo reverberating all the way down my body to the bottom of my feet, stopping briefly at my stomach and pelvis before travelling further.

Or did I imagine that? I couldn’t move anything. My fingers, my legs, my back… If I couldn’t move, then how could feel I anything?

What happened to me? I must have fallen.

Where am I?

I looked up and then to my sides but only as far as my eyes could move. I was laying on my back. On either side I could see grass, deep and overgrown. A tree to my left (a large oak?), bushes to the right. I could smell the earth.

Above me was a cliff edge, not very tall, but tall enough. Did I fall from up there?

I could hear birds. It was a clear day, sunny, warm. Spring.

This place is familiar. I know where I am, I often came here to walk the dog.

Had I fallen on my walk?

We live nearby, Mark and I, and our kids, Tommy and Clara. Clara was named after Mark’s grandmother, a bit old fashioned but rather sweet we thought when we named her. It suited her well. There’s also our cat Whiskers (Whisky!), a tabby; she was old and getting a bit fat. The vet said it’s common with cats when they got older, and we had to put her on a diet as it's bad for her heart otherwise. Our dog Penny, a young cockapoo, had only been with us a little while.

I took her out for a long walk every day. I never seemed to be able to organise my thoughts when I was at home. The house felt loud, even when no one was there. Too many noises in the walls, in the furniture, even crawling in the light and air. The house suffocated with its silent noise.

Our housekeeper Magda usually came late in the afternoon to clean and prepare dinner. When the kids got back from school, I made them peanut butter and jam sandwiches, then later we would all have dinner together. Dinner that Magda had prepared. Mark came back home for dinner, mostly. When he didn’t, I didn’t ask why. It was better that way.

Magda didn’t have keys to the house, I always let her in. She must be on her way, who would let her in if I was laying over here, helpless.

“How long have I been here?”

I was in the isolated part of the park. The trail I was near was closest to our house, but our house was a little way away from the rest of the village and people didn’t come here as often. Did that mean no one would find me until it’s too late. I had to shout louder.

“Hhheeelll…,” I tried again. Did I hear the sound children, little boys playing?

“Tommy, Mommy is here… help me. Help Mommy…,” a loud and clear voice, but only in my head again. Tommy was of course not there, no one heard me, no one was helping Mommy.

Did I slip and fall when I was walking over that cliff with Penny? Then she must be here somewhere, the poor dog. Did she go looking for help? Was she smart enough for that? I didn’t think so, she was utterly adorable like a little teddy bear, and I loved her, but she was not a very bright dog.

What can I remember; I need to retrace my steps.

Did Magda make roast chicken last night? It was the children’s favourite, and Mark’s. Magda made it perfectly every time. That’s why we hired her. Not just for roast chicken, to generally cook dinner for us every night. Mark said I couldn’t cook. He was of course right.

God knows I tried to cook. I couldn’t work out the oven. Why was the temperature always wrong, everything either burned or was too raw. We were once all sick from the chicken I cooked. Mark especially, he couldn’t go to work. He was very angry about that. Even weak from food poisoning, he was still angry. My arm hurt, then my shoulder.

When he stopped being angry, he mocked my attempts instead, or just complained. Too salty, too sweet, flavourless, inedible. Raw! And when Mark didn’t like the food, the children didn’t either. Tommy especially took after his father.

I once asked Laura, my friend and our neighbour to help. Laura is a great cook; food at her dinner parties was always incredible. She told me not to tell Mark that she had helped, she worried it might make him angry with me. She left before the kids got back (“No witnesses!” she laughed awkwardly on her way out) and long before Mark came home.

But even Laura’s expertly prepared yet simple ‘chilli con carne’ was not good enough for Mark. Too much chilli. He said he couldn’t eat it, so he didn’t. I thought it had the perfect amount of chilli. The kids liked it, at first. But Tommy pulled a face halfway through no doubt mimicking his father. They ordered a pizza and ate that on the sofa. I loved what Laura and I made; I had it for lunch the next day and froze a little bit for another time.

After that Mark hired Magda, saying he just couldn’t deal with my cooking anymore. Magda was a sweet old Polish lady, and she has been with us for some time now. After a while Mark asked her to clean the house too. I was surprised, I usually tidied up every day. I thought the house looked very clean. But he said it was not quite clean enough, not like his home had been when he was growing up, and that I didn’t know any better because I had grown up in a poor home, and my mother worked a lot and had no time to clean.

I tried to protest and said I was the one cleaning when I got back home from school not my mother, so the house was always clean. I did that so dad would not be angry at mom. He was often angry with her, especially when he had been drinking, and it scared me when I was little (was Clara scared when Mark was angry with me?).

When he asked Magda to do an extra hour every other day to keep the house clean, he explained it was because Mrs Jenner didn’t know how. He laughed at his own well-worn joke about me not knowing how to do anything not even tie my shoelaces. Magda smiled politely but not with her eyes.

“How long have I been here?”

It was now dark; it had been raining. Did I lose consciousness for a while, fall asleep?

I tried to piece together what had happened before I woke up here. I took Penny for her usual walk after breakfast. Poor dog, she’s out there somewhere, no doubt scared like I was.

Mark had come home earlier than I expected the night before. He wasn’t home much these days, and I preferred it when he stayed out in town for his work events. I liked it most when it was just me and the kids, when Magda cooked dinner and then left us to be on our own. On her way out she had asked if Mr Jenner would come home later and looked relieved when I said he wouldn’t probably be back until after we went to sleep. She seemed so worried these days. Perhaps something had happened at home, with her family (I must ask next time I see her).

Penny was begging at the table as we ate, and Whiskers sat on top of the sideboard as if keeping an eye on us. Neither was allowed in the dining room when Mark was home.

He came in just after we finished eating. He was upset and very angry. And drunk. He was not usually drunk. When he saw the pets in the dining room he lost it.

“How can you be so filthy and have animals where we eat, near our food!”

The dog and cat both escaped his wrath and disappeared somewhere in the house. Sensing danger, I sent the kids to bed too, telling them they did not need to brush their teeth this time and they best get to sleep as quickly as they could. Something had happened at Mark’s work, he was venting and stank like he had been drinking all afternoon. He smelled a lot like dad did all those years ago when he had been angry with mom.

He kept yelling at me, calling me lazy and useless, how everything was always his responsibility - money, house, kids. That I couldn’t look after anyone if I had to, and he had to think about everything cause I couldn't. I was very scared, more scared than I had ever been around him. The fear paralysed me, and then my wrist hurt, and my arm, my face, my stomach, my back.

I woke the next morning smothered in misery, lost deep in a dark hole. I couldn’t find my way out of there. Did I try to do something to end all the suffering when I came here to walk Penny? Did I jump from that cliff up there?

No, that wasn’t right, I would never do this to the children, no matter how hard it became. And I wouldn’t leave Penny deliberately here on her own. No, I must have fallen when I came with her for a walk.

No, that’s not right either. I never walked Penny again after that night. The night Mark came home angrier than ever.

It was light outside again. I had been drifting in and out of consciousness.

I could hear parking. Penny! Come here girl, help me. Get someone!

The sound came closer, then there was a lick on my face. Warm stinky dog breath. So unpleasant yet so comforting. But it wasn’t Penny, it was someone much larger. A German Shepherd, a young excitable dog.

He took my arm and ran away. Come back! How can you take my arm off me?

It didn’t hurt though. I couldn’t feel anything. It’s like I wasn’t even there anymore, I was nothing more than a pile of bones; the dog picked one he liked the most and ran back to his owners.

I could hear them nearby. They were coming my way, their voices getting louder, clearer, more urgent.

Now they would find me. Now they would learn what happened to me.

“How long have I been here?”