What Lies Hidden

by Fran McDonnell

  Eventually, she drifted into sleep. She dreamt she was searching for something, something precious and shiny. She met a man who smiled and seemed helpful but as she looked at him his face became warped and threatening and blood dripped from his hands. She stirred and turned over only to plunge into a new world. She was in a house that was large with beautiful furnishings. She walked through the house. When she sat on the gold armchair it gradually deteriorated into a dirty, tarnished chair that fell apart. She stood up and moved into the next room. The walls were covered in William Morris wallpaper but when she touched it, it turned mouldy and black. She touched a picture and it too became rotten. Isobel ran from room to room but everywhere what initially appeared beautiful disintegrated.

  She woke at five o’clock, short of breath and anxious. She got up and had a drink of water before turning over again to sleep. This time she found herself dressed in a red cape. She was walking through a forest which was dark, and she felt scared. Eventually a house appeared and she ran to it. Once inside she moved from room to room looking for someone. In the bedroom there was a person in bed who smiled and reached out a hand to her. Isobel moved closer. Suddenly the smile changed into big white teeth with blood dripping from them and arms reached out to grab her.

  When she woke again, Isobel was glad to get up.

  Chapter 11

  Friday 25thMay

  By nine o’clock Isobel was on the road to the rehab centre. She wasn’t hopeful that she would learn anything specific about Anne but it would be interesting to see the place where she had spent four weeks. The centre was on the outskirts of a town. It was an old Georgian estate house with graceful windows, in its own substantial grounds. The entrance was a long drive bordered by grass, so that visitors could see and admire the gardens. There was a vegetable garden, large greenhouses and a polytunnel. Dividing the areas were hedges and flower beds and what appeared to be a low-walled maze or labyrinth. There were some parking spaces at the front and Isobel pulled up there.

  The front door was double width and open, revealing an inner access door. Inside there was a big, high-ceilinged hall where there was a reception desk. Everything looked very clean and Isobel thought opulent. Behind the reception desk was a bespectacled thirty-something woman who was dressed in a severe black suit and white blouse. Isobel introduced herself and was shown to a sitting room to wait. Mr Byrne, it seemed, was running late.

  Isobel waited half an hour before anyone joined her. She flicked through some magazines but gradually realised how nervous she was. When Patricia made the appointment she hadn’t stated the nature of her business. Now, sitting here, Isobel wondered if that might be to her advantage. Rather than ask about Anne and meet the predictable barrier of confidentiality, maybe there was another way. There was no further time to plan as the door opened and a dapper little man entered. He was around five foot five, slim, with dark, Isobel was sure dyed, hair and a moustache. His movements were precise almost formal, Hercule Poirot to a ‘T’. Isobel suspected that just as his physical attire was important to him so was what others thought of him.

  He gave a fake smile. “I’m Mr Byrne, sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Isobel reached out her hand. “Hello. Isobel McKenzie.”

  Mr Byrne gave it a lukewarm shake.

  “Thank you so much for seeing me, Mr Byrne. I’m at my wit’s end. My sister is in a terrible way and I’m desperate to find somewhere that can help her. This is the first lifeline I feel there’s been in a long time.” Isobel pulled out a tissue and dabbed her eyes with it.

  Mr Byrne steered Isobel to a chair and then sat down himself. “Ms Mckenzie, only your sister can admit herself here. There is nothing you can do to make her come. Unless she wants to help herself nothing is going to happen. We cannot be a lifeline if someone doesn’t want to be saved.”

  “Oh, of course you’re right. It is just that I’ve been talking to Anne Banks and she told me about being here and how it had helped her stop drinking. She raved about the place and I just thought, with such a strong recommendation, that this was the place that could do the same for my sister.”

  Mr Byrne straightened his tie. “Well, we have success with many people and I’m delighted that someone is recommending us.”

  “The issues Anne told me about and those my sister is facing are very similar – that’s why I was so keen to come – I hoped that knowing about Anne’s success my sister would be more inclined to give this a chance.”

  “I cannot comment on individual cases obviously. Your sister would need to speak to one of our counsellors and be assessed for her suitability for our programme. Only after that could we even consider arranging admission.”

  “I’m trying to find a place where the needs of an alcoholic with young children are catered for.”

  “Our job is to get the person dry, help them understand what’s been happening, give them coping skills, a programme to follow and put them in touch with a support network. We do speak to family but it’s dependent on each case and our job is not to sort out the person’s life but to give them the skills to do so.”

  “Do you make recommendations about how someone should proceed in repairing their relationship with their children?”

  “That’s a very specific question. In all cases we want the person to make amends with the people they’ve hurt. Obviously, with their children we would be supporting the building of a stronger, more honest relationship, but our primary focus is getting the alcoholic to stop drinking. More in-depth relationship-building may need a counsellor’s ongoing support when the person leaves here.”

  “Do you make recommendations about things like that?” Isobel pressed.

  “Not generally, unless there’s a specific need. The children in the relationship are not under our care. We recommend, assist our clients, look for obvious dangers if there are any but we’re here to treat addiction and to get the addicted person sober. That’s a difficult thing to do and can take more than one attempt.”

  Isobel nodded. As Mr Byrne talked she’d realised that there would be a limit to what he would know about Tommy. She asked, “Is it possible to see around?”

  Mr Byrne shook his head. “No, not today. We have open days when you can come to see the facility. The anonymity of our clients is sacrosanct. Tours are well organised so that no one meets any clients.” As if reminded of time he glanced at his watch and stood up briskly. “The next open day is the first Saturday of the month, as usual. You and your sister are welcome to come. I’ll give you information on the procedure she needs to follow to get a place here. Tell her to contact us if she is interested in our programme.”

  Isobel remained seated. “Fine – but, when someone leaves here, what follow-up services are in place or what is recommended?”

  Mr Byrne sat down again. “There’s a choice between an after-care programme which we run or they can return to a counsellor they were already seeing. We advise either of these options and of course the choice is up to the client. They also have AA meetings. We recommend ninety meetings in ninety days when they leave here.”

  “What happens if someone doesn’t do these things?”

  “Sadly, some people choose not to. Unfortunately that often is a precursor to their drinking again. Getting sober and staying sober takes a lot of work and most people need all the support they can get and even then it’s difficult.”

  Isobel smiled and stood up. “Thank you, Mr Byrne. I feel I’ve a better understanding of things now.”

  “My pleasure, Ms Mckenzie, and I wish your sister success in her sobriety.”

  Isobel made her way to her car and sat at the wheel. She felt guilty. Anne Banks had a lot to deal with in her addiction. Isobel put her head in her hands and let the emotions wash over her. Was she doing more harm than good here? Her fears mounted and she took a few deep breaths. As she calmed, her brain kicked in and she realised that the things Claire had told her meant that she needed to check everything out.

  She scrolled thro
ugh her contact list and found an old friend’s number. As always Niamh was quick to answer, her musical Cork accent soon singing over the airwaves.

  “Niamh, I have a bit of a situation here and I need your expertise to clarify a few things.”

  “No problem.”

  “If a mother was reluctant to meet up with her child post-rehab, what could her counsellor or aftercare worker do?”

  “How old is the child?”

  “Nine.”

  “That’s unusual. For a variety of reasons, it’s more typical for a mother to have a problem with meeting a teenage child. Well, they could continuously encourage her to re-establish a relationship with her child, pointing out that this was a vital relationship in her life and especially in the child’s. All they could do is suggest, encourage, support.”

  “If the mother felt that her guilt and shame were so great that she couldn’t meet her child, would that be OK?”

  “If it were me, I would be pointing out to her that seeing her child would reduce that guilt.”

  “But if the mother was getting panic attacks at the thought of dealing with this?”

  “If it were me, I would work with that and give her some time, but I would point out that those feelings were only going to escalate until she took that step.” She paused. “Tell me, is there any evidence that she has abused the child?”

  “No, but she is very reluctant to meet up with her son now that she is sober.”

  “Well, for a while I would give her some space to deal with some of the issues but honestly I would always be pushing for contact.”

  Isobel nodded as she listened. “Thanks, Niamh. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Mind yourself.”

  Isobel sat for another minute and then rang Patricia.

  “Hi, any news on the photo?”

  “No papers ran this photo. I’ve checked Anne and Thomas’s Facebook pages – nothing. And I’ve done a search of the web for images and again nothing.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “Isobel, do you have a Facebook account, Instagram, do you post photos of yourself online?”

  “No.”

  “Well, neither do Anne and Thomas Banks. They’re kind of like you, in that they have no obvious presence on the web. You actually do because other people have put up photos with you in them – there are only a few but I could find them. All I could find of the Banks is a photo from nearly ten years ago for Thomas Banks out on a work do and nothing for Anne, and definitely not that photo of the two of them.”

  “So this seems to be a private photo not in the public domain.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did Brian Poole get it then?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question. How did you get on at rehab?”

  Isobel laughed. “Not so good. I didn’t really learn much except that Anne would be encouraged strongly to see Tommy.”

  “Which is common sense?”

  “Yes, so why has it not happened yet? What’s the problem?”

  “It seems strange.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” said Isobel. “Despite everything the Banks say about thinking of Tommy, the one thing that seems a priority they’re not doing.”

  “Well, maybe something we find out at the school will help.”

  “I’m on my way back to London now. I’ll drop off the car and meet you at the school.”

  “Great.”

  “Are you nervous about today?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re going to be fine, Patricia. Remember, this is us trying to make sure that Tommy is doing OK. Keep that in your mind – that makes it easier.”

  “Thanks.”

  “See you soon.”

  Chapter 12

  When Isobel arrived at the school she found Patricia pacing up and down in the car park.

  “Oh my God, I’ve the worst case of butterflies in my stomach that I’ve ever had!”

  Isobel laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “It could be worse – you could have diarrhoea,” Isobel tilted her head, “or a toothache.”

  Patricia grinned.

  “Do you have a friend or a family member who has a child of around nine?” Isobel said.

  Patricia looked puzzled. “Yes, my friend has a nine-year-old called Luke.”

  “Do you spend time with Luke?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Isobel spun her hands round each other and nodded pointedly at Patricia to keep talking.

  “We go to the park, swimming …” said Patricia.

  “So, use those memories and experiences. In fact, your son is called Luke too. Just model him on the Luke you know.”

  Patricia grinned. “He’s great and getting so big and tall.”

  “That’s the spirit. You sound like a doting mum. You’re taking to this like a duck to water.”

  “Maybe you’re right. It certainly beats typing and answering the phone. This is far more exciting.”

  “Exciting, not scary, just like a roller coaster. Maybe you’re developing a taste for intrigue.”

  Patricia straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready to find a school for Luke.”

  It was half past two when the secretary showed them into the headmistress’s office.

  Mrs Winter was in her middle thirties. She was dressed in a very professional and expensive-looking pale-grey suit with a baby-blue blouse. Her black hair was pulled back into a loose chignon and her make-up was natural and well applied. She was the epitome of sophistication and professionalism.

  “I’m so grateful to you for seeing me, Mrs Winter, and at such short notice,” Patricia said.

  “Not at all.”

  “As I mentioned on the phone we’re relocating to the area and a friend told me about this school and recommended it, given my situation.”

  “How old is your son?”

  “Luke is nine. Based on the good things I’ve heard, I was hoping you would have a place for him here.”

  “Well, we are a private school so we can normally oblige. And there are places in the classroom for a child of that age. When are you moving?”

  “It’s happening imminently. Before I finalise things, I need to be sure that Luke has a school to go to and that his needs will be met in the school he’s transferring to.”

  “Your son has special needs?”

  “Of a sort.”

  Mrs Winter inclined her head.

  “Let me be frank with you,” said Patricia. “My husband is an alcoholic and in the last few months the situation at home has become intolerable. My son and I are moving here to make a new start where we have friends around us.” She gestured towards Isobel. “I’m concerned that Luke will get all the support he needs at this difficult time. I want to be sure that he’ll be understood and that you will keep me closely appraised of any concerns you might have. Naturally, I’ll be organizing extra support for him myself, but I feel that schools play an important role in a child’s life and their input or lack thereof can have a huge impact.”

  Mrs Winter shifted in her seat, straightening her back. “I agree and here at this school we’re very committed to supporting our children, educationally and with all the challenges that life now throws at them.”

  “From your experience, what help is Luke most likely to need? What should I look for? I’m new to dealing with all of this but I’m sure you’ve dealt with children going through something like this many times and have a lot of insights and experience.” Patricia bit her lip.

  Mrs Winter relaxed slightly. “Of course we have. Every child is different but we have experience. In fact, at the moment one of the boys of Luke’s age is going through a similar thing – only it’s his mother who’s an alcoholic.”

  Patricia kept her face neutral and inclined her head.

  “But he’s doing well, thank goodness,” said Mrs Winter.

  “I noticed a change in my son’s behaviour as his father got more out of control in his drinki
ng. I’m afraid –” Patricia broke off, lowered her head and covered her eyes with a hand.

  Isobel found a tissue in her handbag and passed it to Patricia. “I’m sure any child would change in a situation like that,” she said, placing a comforting hand on Patricia’s shoulder. “Luke is going to be all right. You’re doing your best, Patricia, you’ll get him through this. I’m sure Mrs Winter agrees that any child would be changed, that that’s a normal reaction to what’s happening.” She looked at Mrs Winter in appeal.

  Mrs Winter rested her arms on the desk. “Mrs King, changes in behaviour are to be expected – but rest assured we can help your son.”

  Patricia raised her head, dabbing her eyes with the tissue. “Thank you, Mrs Winter.”

  “As I said, every child is different. For example, in the case I mentioned it’s only very recently that we’ve noticed a change in the child. Apparently, the drinking was going on for some time, secretly. It may have been years but the mother was always at the gate to collect the boy and they seemed to be very close. Thankfully, as things escalated the father realised what was happening. Really, it’s only since this has come to light that the lad has been affected. He’s lucky that his father is so supportive and aware. He’s doing everything to make this work for his son while the mother sorts herself out. Does your son see much of his father?”

  “Not at the moment,” said Patricia. “Things need to settle down and my soon-to-be-ex-husband needs to stop drinking and be sober enough to see his son.”

  “Of course. All of these things take time. Sometimes, even when someone gets sober they need time to come to terms with what has happened.”

  “What do you mean?”