by Rona Halsall
‘I’m just nipping out to get some grocery shopping,’ Frank said as she sipped her coffee. ‘Want to come?’
‘That’s my idea of torture,’ she said, the weekly shop always being something she’d hated with a passion. ‘I really didn’t sleep well last night, so I’ll probably have a snooze on the sofa, if that’s okay.’
Frank opened the cupboard under the sink and retrieved his stash of shopping bags. He waved a hand over the mess on the worktop, the remnants of breakfast. ‘Don’t you worry about that; I’ll tidy up when I get back.’ With a pat on the shoulder as he walked past, he was gone, whistling as he shut the door behind him. The house settled into quietness.
Her phone was on the table where she’d left it the night before and she picked it up, checked for messages. Carol had replied, asking her to call. Dean had sent her a message to say that the child safeguarding team had started work on their case and he would be talking to them later. He’d be home with Mia by evening at the latest and would call her then. The muscles in her shoulders tightened. A tear rolled down her cheek, then another.
Just pull yourself together, girl. Get on with it. Her mum’s voice in her head, making her take a deep breath as she tried to step away from the brink of darkness and find something light to focus on.
Swiping away the tears, she checked Twitter, and her heart leapt when she found a message from Surferdude. A cartoon character blowing heart-shaped kisses, and underneath he’d written:
Glad you connected. Love you, Becca. Can I hope you still feel the same about me? Put me out of my misery, babe. Do you still love me? Because my heart and soul are yours xxx
Becca read the words over and over. It wasn’t the message she’d hoped for. He actually sounded quite needy, she thought, which was the opposite of how he’d been when they were together.
It struck her then that maybe he’d got back in touch because he wasn’t in a good place himself. The last thing she needed was someone else’s troubles to deal with, because she knew she’d find it hard not to get involved, trying to make things better for him regardless of her own situation. It was in her nature. He hadn’t responded to her request for a video conversation either.
Connor’s not going to be able to help, is he?
She put her phone down, fingers drumming on the table as she thought about the events of the previous night. It had all happened so quickly, the outcome so unexpected. Dean’s message said he’d be back home that evening. Maybe I should be there waiting for him? The only way to sort this out was face to face. But the evening was hours away.
Mia’s face filled her mind, and her heart ached for her absent child. Mia would be missing her, confused, wondering what was going on. Becca stood, her body pulling her towards her daughter, the need to be with her, to hold her, too strong to resist.
The whole situation was so wrong, she couldn’t believe it was really happening. Had she misunderstood? Suddenly, she knew the only way to really sort this out was to go to the hospital and make them talk to her, give her an opportunity to change their minds about what was happening. She couldn’t wait for Kate. Now. She had to go now.
An hour later, she arrived at the hospital and asked for Dr Baddiel, only to be told she wouldn’t be on duty until later. She explained that her daughter was on the paediatric ward, and the receptionist gave her directions. With her heart racing, she dashed down the corridors until she found the right place and pressed the entry buzzer. A voice answered.
‘Hello,’ Becca said, all cheery. ‘I’m Mia Thornton’s mum. Just wondered if I could come in and see her please?’
She could hear a muffled conversation, then a voice through the speaker asked, ‘Can you just wait there for a moment, please? Someone will be out in two ticks.’
Becca saw a line of seats against the wall and went to sit and wait. Ten minutes later, the door opened, and Dean came out, dark smudges under his eyes, looking as weary as she felt. She tensed, her body ramrod stiff as he came and sat next to her.
This is his fault.
‘Is Mia okay?’ she asked, the very closeness of him making her skin prickle. ‘Can I see her?’
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, but they won’t let you.’ He was talking to her as if nothing had happened between them. As if he hadn’t betrayed her, hadn’t doubted her sanity. ‘It’s been referred to this team who deal with child safeguarding, and they’re now responsible for deciding what’s best for Mia. There’s a whole process they have to go through.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ She couldn’t stop her temper exploding as she bounced to her feet. ‘We’re her parents. We know what’s best for our daughter.’ She grunted in frustration, her hands buried in her hair. ‘I mean, the stupid thing is, I came here because I wanted help, a proper diagnosis. But instead, I’ve been accused of intentionally harming my own child. It’s… It’s…’ She pulled at her hair, unable to express how angry and frustrated and helpless she felt. ‘Can’t you tell them they’ve got it wrong?’
‘But have they?’ He gave her a strange look. ‘You’ve not been yourself recently, Becca. You’ve said as much, and I can see by your conversation with your ex that you’re not happy. You’re saying you feel neglected, even though I’m always telling you I love you.’ He sighed. ‘You’ve got this secret history of mental health issues, and it turns out you’ve been more or less diagnosed in the past with suspected Munchausen’s by proxy, or whatever they call it these days.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and he shifted in his seat. ‘I honestly don’t know what to think, but I can’t let this go on.’ He was pleading with her, his eyes locked on hers. ‘If we just go through the proper process, let the professionals assess everything, then I’m sure you’ll be exonerated, and they’ll work out where the problem is.’
The tapping of footsteps stopped her reply and she turned to see two people hurrying towards them. A middle-aged man with a shiny, bald head the shape of a rugby ball and a squat woman, who waddled due to the advanced stage of her pregnancy, her stomach huge.
‘Mr Thornton,’ the man said, looking at Dean, then Becca. ‘The ward said your wife had arrived.’
Becca frowned at him as he stuck out his hand. ‘Eric Barnsley. I’m here from the child safeguarding team. Social services. I’ve had a chat with your husband and Mia, so I’m pleased that you’ve come in. It’ll speed things up.’
Becca shook his hand, his skin dry and leathery against her clammy palm.
‘This is Angela Jones, part of the hospital’s safeguarding team.’ Another handshake, Angela’s touch light and soft and fleeting, like she’d rather not shake hands at all. A horrible feeling of dread clutched Becca’s throat, gripping so tightly she couldn’t speak. They’re not going to listen to me. She knew it before they’d even begun, could see the judgement already there on their faces.
‘If we can have a chat, Mrs Thornton, we can explain the situation and take it from there?’
Becca nodded. Don’t make assumptions, she told herself, firmly. You might be jumping to all the wrong conclusions. Again.
Eric took a key from the bunch in his pocket and opened a door, flicked a light switch and led Becca into a small meeting room. ‘Mr Thornton, would you join us, please? I won’t keep you long, then you can get back to your daughter.’
The small table had four blue plastic chairs round it, a couple more pushed up against the walls. She sat, Dean next to her and the two officials across the table.
‘Now, Mrs Thornton, perhaps you can tell us in your own words how you see the situation?’
Relieved to have her say, Becca recounted the events of the last few weeks keeping her voice as calm and controlled as she could.
When she finally finished, the two officials looked at each other.
Dean coughed. ‘Becca’s been very stressed,’ he said. ‘Working and having Mia to care for has been a struggle, especially as I’ve been away a lot, so she’s had to cope on her own.’ He glanced at her. ‘I think it’s just been a bit too much.’ He looked down
at his hands. ‘I feel bad that I didn’t see the warning signs. I shouldn’t have let it get to this stage.’
‘Now don’t go blaming yourself, Mr Thornton. These situations tend to creep up on people.’
‘Excuse me,’ Becca said, firmly, determined not to let them talk about her like she wasn’t there. ‘I think there’s a strong possibility that my husband is behind all this.’ Dean reeled back, clearly shocked by her accusation. ‘I think he’s been giving Mia something. He wants me out of the house.’
The officials looked confused. Dean glared at her. ‘What the hell are you talking about? How can it be me when this has happened when I’ve been away?’
He had a point. Becca swallowed. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, a surge of heat flooding her body as she understood how unhinged she sounded. ‘But it wasn’t me.’
25
Becca was closely questioned by the two officials, who carefully picked over her version of events. Then they focused their attention on her: was she on medication, where did she store cleaning materials, where did she keep her nurse’s bag, what medication did she carry in there? All sorts of questions asked from different angles, trying to catch her out. After that, she was seen by the on-call psychiatrist, who’d been asked to do an assessment. It was horribly familiar, bringing back memories of the scariest time of her life, when she’d felt so boxed in by accusations of wrongdoing that she could barely breathe.
The psychiatrist was a nondescript middle-aged man, with short brown hair and a very forgettable face. His demeanour was coaxing and unthreatening – all concerned expressions and a gentle, soporific voice, pretending to be on her side while he tried to trick her into admitting she was overwhelmed and that hurting Mia was her way of crying for help.
He went over her past in minute detail, dragging up her previous episode of depression, brought on by the stress of the police investigation at the hospital. He highlighted the similarities between the situation before she went to Australia and now. She could see where it was going but she felt helpless, unable to convince him that she was innocent. By the time he’d finished, she felt like a worn-out rag, wrung out so many times she was tattered and frayed, no substance left in her threadbare fibres.
The psychiatrist left her alone in the meeting room, and twenty minutes later Eric Barnsley came back in. He gave her a smile, which seemed completely inappropriate given the circumstances. ‘Well, Mrs Thornton, I have spoken to all my colleagues on the team, and our initial conclusion is that Mia should stay in the family home with Mr Thornton. You will be legally bound to stay away while investigations are ongoing, and we will aim to expedite the work as quickly as possible.’
Stay away from my daughter? Her heart clenched, her mind spinning. ‘What investigations exactly? How long is it going to take?’
‘We are still awaiting test results. And we are interviewing family, friends and work colleagues to get a picture in the round, as it were. Also, the psychiatrist has suggested further assessments with you before we make our final judgement as to the way forward.’
‘What?’ Her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head. ‘No! How can you be allowed to interfere in my life… our lives like this?’ Her hands flew through the air as she spoke. ‘It’s not right! He wasn’t listening to me. Your psychiatrist, whatever his name is. He’d already come to a conclusion.’
Eric patted the air in a ‘calm down’ motion, a spark of fear in his eyes. ‘Now, Mrs Thornton, please don’t upset yourself. We want an outcome that’s best for the family. But you’ve got to admit that eight incidents of poisoning, which we all agree is what has been happening here, well, it’s got to stop. Please… just cooperate with our recommendations – I can assure you that’s the quickest way to get life back to normal.’
She sat and seethed for a minute or two while Eric watched her, his eyes scanning her face. A sheen of sweat appeared on his brow.
He’s taking notes, she warned herself. And you’re acting like a crazy person. She clasped her hands in her lap, feeling angry and powerless and trapped. Her heart thundered in her chest, making her body shake with each beat. There was nothing she could do. Nothing at all.
Play the game, go through the motions and have faith in the process, she counselled herself. The last thing she needed to do was behave in a way that confirmed their suspicions. Quickly. He said it would be done quickly. She latched on to that thought like a drowning swimmer snatching at a life belt. ‘So, what happens next?’ she said, eventually. ‘What timescales are we talking about?’
‘We’ll keep regular checks on Mia. And we want you to see the psychiatrist and accept whatever treatment he recommends.’ His stare seemed to intensify at this point, and she squirmed, sure that he could sense her resistance to that part of the process. ‘There will be an appointment in the post. I believe you’re staying at your father’s address. Mr Thornton has given us the details.’
‘You’re making me live apart from my daughter.’ It was more of a statement than a question, and just saying the words made her hand reach for her throat as if she was being starved of oxygen.
‘For the time being, yes.’
Her eyes locked with his in silent battle, emotion swelling in her chest, making it a struggle to keep her voice even. ‘Well, how’s that going to be possible when my husband works away half the time? It’s not like he can take her with him, is it?’
Eric studied his notes. ‘I believe your husband is taking some time off work while he sorts out childcare.’
Becca tried to think of something to say, anything to persuade this man that he didn’t fully understand the situation. Nobody did – even she didn’t comprehend what was really happening. But she did know they were approaching the search for a solution from completely the wrong direction.
‘I’m not the problem,’ she said quietly as she got up and left the room, with Eric calling after her that he’d be in touch.
Five hours after she’d left Frank’s house that morning, she arrived back, slamming the front door behind her as if it was to blame.
Frank popped his head out of the kitchen door, frowning.
‘Don’t you start,’ she snapped before heading into the lounge, unable to face any sort of conversation, let alone lengthy explanations. She wanted to be alone, to curl up in a ball and purge herself of the storm of emotions that whirled inside her. She pressed her lips tight, trying to stop the sobs that were heaving in her chest as she sank on to the sofa.
‘Oh, love,’ Frank said, coming to sit beside her, wrapping her in a hug. She clung to him, a child again being comforted by her parent, the man who had always tried to smooth away her woes. ‘What’s going on? Where’ve you been? I tried ringing you, but it just went to voicemail. I was so worried.’
Encircled in his arms, his kindness was too much, and her sadness flowed out of her in a river of tears. Finally, her sobs hiccupped to a stop and she pulled away. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the coffee table, handing them to her. ‘There you go, love. You dry your eyes, then tell me all about it.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘A problem shared is a problem halved, remember?’
She sighed and sank back on the cushions, wiping her face with frustrated swipes.
‘They’re still convinced it’s me poisoning Mia. I went to the hospital thinking it was the best way to sort everything out. Head on, like you always say.’ Frank nodded and she almost crumpled again when she saw the concern in his eyes. ‘Well, I’m not sure if I just made it worse. Anyway. I met the social worker who’s in charge of safeguarding, and we had a long chat, going through all the details yet again. Then they turned it all on me and what I might be doing wrong. And he made me talk to a psychiatrist who twisted my words and it’s all official now.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Legally, I can’t be with my own daughter until they’ve completed their investigation.’
Frank whistled between his teeth. ‘That seems harsh. I thought that’s maybe where you’d gone, but I do wish you’d wai
ted for Kate to go with you like you’d arranged. Do you think it would help if I spoke to them? Vouched for you as a mother or something? Because from what I’ve seen you’re a brilliant mum and Mia adores you.’
Becca blew her nose. ‘I don’t think Mia’s feelings come into this at all, I’m afraid. She’s only three, so whatever she says won’t really count. Not with me and Dean saying opposite things.’ She squeezed the soggy ball of tissues in her hand.
‘Bloody Dean!’ Frank slapped his leg with a smack that made Becca jump. ‘I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.’
‘Oh, Dad, not that again. I really don’t need any more aggravation.’ She sighed. ‘They’ll be talking to you and Kate at some point, so at least you’ll get to have your say. Hopefully, they’ll listen.’
Frank huffed a couple of times, clearly unable to think of anything constructive to say. He patted her knee before getting up. ‘I’ll make us some tea. You look like you might be in shock. Pale as a ghost you are.’
He came back a few minutes later with steaming mugs. ‘There you go, love. You’ll feel better after that.’ His lips pursed as he assessed her dishevelled state. ‘I bet you haven’t eaten either, have you?’
She shook her head and he returned to the kitchen, coming back in with a plate of ham sandwiches. ‘These will keep you going until tea’s ready.’ He took one for himself, passing the rest of them to her. ‘I was just making a snack when you came back, but we can share.’
It was peculiar having her dad clucking around, with her once again the child in their relationship, rather than feeling like the adult. Safe and loved. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she murmured as she started nibbling, suddenly aware of the hunger gnawing at her belly.
Ten minutes later, the sandwiches eaten, she felt strong enough to talk again. ‘It’s legally binding. That’s the most awful thing. I can’t go near her. And I’ve got to see the psychiatrist again, agree to whatever treatment he recommends once he’s made a diagnosis. That’s me he’s going to diagnose, which means they’re convinced I’m mentally ill.’ She glanced at Frank. ‘How on earth do you go about convincing people your mental health is fine when they’ve already decided that it’s not? To them, I’m in denial.’ She threw up her hands in despair, voice wavering. ‘How do I win?’