Unperfect

Mia

Within fifteen minutes of being here it was clear this had been a bad idea. The warmth, the banter, the casual teasing – stuff I vaguely remembered from before Nate – was so alien that I couldn’t really handle it. I felt like a small child out in the cold, watching these people through a foggy window with my nose pressed up against the glass but not being able to reach them. Max, Yaz, Verity (who’d met us after the rugby) and Heath stayed close and made gentle attempts to include me, but I just didn’t know how to behave.

With Nate there had almost been a script I was expected to follow. We were always in cold, clinical, uber-posh bars or restaurants, not cosy little pubs with the odd dog wandering around (Roger was sitting on my feet as I stood in the circle which I found oddly comforting). I had known what was expected of me and I had had a mask of full make up and designer outfits on to hide behind. Now, I was standing in the middle of a crowd of people with no make-up, partly covered in sand, my hair a windswept disaster and wearing a dodgy borrowed lycra outfit with a way-too-big sleeveless rugby top over it. The way these people interacted made my heart ache. It brought home how much Nate had taken away from me over the years I was with him.

“Mia,” Heath said from my other side and I held back a sigh. I tried to avoid Heath if I could – he always asked too many questions.

“Heath!” Yaz said, then turned bright red when silence followed her semi-shouting his name. “Er … can I get you a drink?’

“I’m okay thanks, Midge,” he told her, holding up his full pint and giving her a bemused half smile.

“Right, yes of course,” she mumbled followed by an out of character nervous giggle.

Heath gave her a lightening quick but dismissive smile and then turned back to me.

“Mia, can I talk to you for a minute?” He wasn’t smiling now.

“Oh.” I bit my lip. Twice before he’d made a vague attempt to speak to me on my own but I’d been able to dodge him pretty well. “Er … I-”

“What’s up?” Max asked, moving in closer to me so that the side of his body was almost flush with mine. Under the intense gaze of Heath and so close to Max I started to feel the familiar pull of claustrophobia. It was ridiculous – Heath’s eyes were awash with concern, and who wouldn’t like being this close to Max? But I felt scrutinised, trapped.

“Excuse me,” I muttered. “I’ve … er, just got to nip to the loo.”

I put a considerable effort into not running away from the group, and managed to slip out of the circle of people before breaking into a light jog. Rodger, bless him, followed me, staying glued to my side as I weaved my way through the crowd and finally made it to the Ladies. Once inside the cubicle I sat on the closed toilet seat and put my head between my legs, trying to slow my breathing and tapping on my wrist. After a couple of minutes I felt more in control, and like a bit of an idiot. I pushed open the cubicle door and stood over the sink, staring into the mirror. These people had been nothing but kind to me. If I wanted to start living again I had to try and get over my anxiety. I had to try to remember who I’d been before and get back to that woman. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripped the side of the sink for a moment and then looked back at myself.

“Snap out of it,” I whispered. “You’re safe here. Just try. Try to be normal.” Filled with new purpose I walked back out of the toilets to a waiting Rodger, but just as I’d finished giving him a head scratch Heath appeared in front of me.

“Mia, I don’t mean to be a creepy bloke who waits outside the ladies’ toilets, but I really wanted to speak to you on your own.”

“Oh,” I said. He was blocking the corridor, directly between me and the rest of the bar. Short of running around him and cementing my reputation as a freak I didn’t have much option but to talk to him. Given the concerned looks he’d levelled at me over the last month and the disapproving vibe I often seemed to get from him I was guessing that he wasn’t too happy with his best friend’s new choice of charity project. “Why do you-?’

“You’re still not using your right arm properly.”

“What?” I asked, my eyebrows going up at his random statement.

He sighed. “You’re right handed. But every time you reached to tag the ball in the air during that match you used your left hand to bring it down.”

I shrugged. “Wh–?’

“You didn’t see that physio, did you?”

I bit my lip and tucked my hair behind my ears in a nervous gesture.

“My arm’s fine.” The last thing I wanted to be reminded of is my injuries. The ones that meant I couldn’t even bloody well reach up to get a coffee cup down from the cupboard at work with my dominant hand.

“It’s not fine,” Heath snapped, in an uncharacteristic loss of patience. He took a step forward and I took a corresponding one back. Rodger moved with me and I put a hand into the fur of his head to calm my nerves. “You had a fracture dislocation, Mia. It needed rehab. Your shoulder movement could be permanently restricted. Why are you being so stubborn about this when–?”

“What’s going on here?” Max’s annoyed voice sounded from behind Heath in the corridor.

“I’m just talking to Mia, Max,” Heath said.

“I can see that, arsehole,” Max replied as he shouldered Heath out of his way to come and stand next to me. “I can also see that you’re stressing her out.”

Heath threw up his arms and, damn it to hell, I flinched. Both men froze and stopped glaring at each other to look at me.

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said, forcing my body to relax. I had to stop being this frightened rabbit the whole time and grow a pair.

“Gi’over. Yer not fine,” Max said, his accent stronger than normal – likely as the result of his beer consumption. “E’s blockin’ yer way which you hate. Your hand’s in’t fur of dog ’cause yer stressed and …” He paused, glanced at Heath then at me before tilting his head in the direction of my hands. I’d been tapping against my wrist without even realising I was doing it. He turned back to Heath.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you need to move out t’way and let Mia pass.”

“Shit,” Heath muttered, moving back at lightening speed and looking horrified that he might have done something to upset me. Great. Freak-level weirdness achieved. The man was just trying to have a simple conversation with me. He was trying to help me. “I’m so sorry, Mia.”

“Look, honestly its fine,” I told him. A couple of women chose that moment to squeeze past us to get to the loos. “Let’s at least go to the bar.” I managed a weak smile and then led them out into the open. Once out of the corridor but still separate from the rest of the crowd I came to a stop. Rodger sat back down on my feet.

“Max, wipe that thunderous look of your face, you grumpy article,” I told him in an effort to lighten the mood. The last thing I wanted was to cause problems between Heath and Max. “Heath’s trying to help me, okay. He didn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t know I’m a bit … weird about stuff.”

“You’re not weird, lass,” Max snapped, scowling down at me. “Don’t you dare say owt like that.” I rolled my eyes.

“Someone who can’t have a couple of simple conversations in a pub without verging on a panic attack is a little bit weird,” I said, dropping my voice to a near whisper.

“Mia, I didn’t mean to make you feel boxed in. I would never–”

“I know!” I was losing patience with this whole situation. “It’s fine, please, please don’t worry about it. You were only trying to help.”

“Help with what?” Max asked, his eyes flicking between Heath and me. Heath clamped his lips together and looked away from us to the bar beyond. I remembered what he’d said before about patient confidentiality and I sighed. I was putting him in an impossible situation with his friend.

“I hurt my shoulder six months ago and Heath treated me in the emergency department.”

Max’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I … um, I fell.’

He narrowed his eyes at me. “And what did this fall do to your shoulder?’

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Max deserved to know some of what happened. I was living with him at the moment for God’s sake.

“Heath you know the details. I give permission for you to tell him. About my injuries.” Heath searched my face for a moment and I gave him a short nod. He turned back to Max.

“Mia sustained a fracture dislocation of her shoulder, a couple of broken ribs and extensive facial bruising.’

“What the fuck?” whispered Max, his face had drained of all colour and his mouth had fallen open. I felt the back of my throat burn, but I bit back any tears.

“The reason I wanted to speak to Mia is that I set up some physio for her to rehabilitate her shoulder after I saw her again at the your office and she never attended.”

“Why does she need rehab?” Max asked, frowning at Heath. 

“Mia,” Heath said, turning to me with a patient expression on his face. “Lift up you right arm please.”

I scowled at Heath and then lifted my right arm up to waist height and then quickly down.

“Above your head, Mia,” Heath told me. I managed to get it to about ninety degrees but it wouldn’t go any further. “When Mia tagged any of the high balls today she used her left hand, but she catches with her right. She didn’t have any proper rehabilitation on the joint. Shoulders can be bastards if you don’t do the physio after that kind of injury.”

He shook his head and looked pained for a moment before he turned to me. “I’m sorry, Mia, but you’ve been preying on my mind.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “The state you were in … we see a lot of shit in that emergency department, but everyone – even the most hardened A&E workers – were upset by your case. And the fact that you self-discharged before we knew that your shoulder had fractured as well as dislocated, and without any family support taking you home … The number you gave us didn’t work … I just … Mia, I feel like we let you down after your …” he paused and glanced at Max before continuing, “fall. We let you slip through our fingers and I just want to make sure you have the treatment you need now.”