by Deborah Bee
‘Mrs Beresford, what do you know about previous injuries that Sarah might have suffered?’
‘Why, she’s always been very healthy, doctor. Not really anything to speak of, I don’t think. Brian?’
‘What about her ankle? We were just talking about that, weren’t we, Mother?’
‘Well, yes, there’s her ankle. That was when she was eight. She fell off –’
‘I’m talking about more recent injuries. It appears that your daughter has had some significant injuries over the last three years. She has had . . . um, a broken arm, three broken fingers, a fractured patella, a broken leg, a dislocated shoulder and a serious cranial fracture.’
‘No, I don’t think so, doctor. That can’t be right.’
‘I’m not asking you, Mrs Beresford. I’m telling you.’
‘There must be some kind of mistake.’
‘No, no kind of mistake. We have had her records sent over to us and it seems she was quite the regular at the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead.’
‘That’s near where she used to live.’
‘A regular?’
‘A regular patient. She was regularly “accident prone”.’
‘What are you trying to say, doctor? That she did this to herself?’
‘No, I’m not, Miss Beresford. I’m saying that for someone to have sustained that many injuries over two years, we would normally expect some kind of difficulty at home.’
‘Difficulty?’
My mother is starting to cry again.
‘What does “difficulty” actually mean, doctor? We keep on hearing it.’
That was my dad.
‘He means that Adam was doing it.’
Don’t be ridiculous.
‘Adam was doing what?’
‘Beating her up. Is that it, doctor?’
‘The incidence of the injuries, and the cranial fracture in particular, is frankly concerning.’
‘Because?’
‘Because, Carol, that’s the reason she is in a coma now. That cranial fracture gave her skull a weakness that meant that she was predisposed to brain trauma. Any fall, even a mild one, could have caused a considerable problem. We wouldn’t have expected an intra-axial haemorrhage necessarily. No one could. That is surprising. But the brain is complicated. Full of surprises. However, she will have been made aware of her condition. She would certainly have been told to avoid situations where she could possibly hit her head.’
‘So it’s her own fault that she got pushed over, is it? She should have avoided going out at night just in case a mugger pushed her? God, this place sucks.’
I didn’t know. I don’t know anything.
‘Plus it puts a different light on the investigation.’
‘In what way exactly, Mr Malin?’
‘It means that the force with which she hit the pavement may have been much lighter than we previously thought. It means that in her case the trauma may actually have been an accident. She had no other injuries. Even the facial bruising was caused by the brain trauma.’
‘It doesn’t really make any difference to us right now, though, does it? She’s still in a fucking coma.’
‘It will make a difference to the muggers, though. The difference between five years and life imprisonment.’
‘Well, big deal, Mr Malin. Big deal. Come back when you have something positive to tell me about my sister, rather than helping the muggers get off.’
‘I apologise if you think that’s my only interest. I would have thought that it would be of concern to all of you that your sister, your daughter, was being subjected to domestic abuse.’
‘We only have your word for that.’
‘No, Carol. We have medical records as long as my arm.’
The door opens and closes.
‘Who’s rewriting history now then, Mother?’
‘Well, I don’t believe a word of it. They have obviously got the wrong person. Haven’t they, Brian?’
‘I told you she was a victim. Fuck. Why didn’t she tell me? Fuck.’
‘We would have known if he was being violent. She would have said. Brian. She would have said, wouldn’t she? Brian! Where are you going now?’
The door slammed. When they’d all stopped arguing, when they’d all gone, the sound went completely again. The darkness got darker. I strained to hear anything but there was nothing there.
And now, in my mind, all I can see is the outline of Adam, bent double, leaning on a lamp post, vomiting onto the pavement. Somehow it was easier having no memory, being no one.
32
Kelly
Day Six – 11 a.m.
I came in early this morning to see Sarah. I sat with her for a bit until her parents came. I heard them coming and slipped out without talking to them. Down to the Family Room. They don’t come in here. They don’t like the mugs, apparently. I don’t like the fucking mugs either.
The day after I chucked the lighter over the wall – the day after the fire – I didn’t feel like going to see Sarah at her house. I didn’t go the next day either. School was on half-days cos the languages block was still dangerous, which was obvs totally brilliant. I went down Wood Green with Clare and everyone. I couldn’t decide if I didn’t wanna go round Sarah’s cos I thought she would be hurt and I couldn’t bear that, and also because I thought she was gonna lie to me. I also couldn’t work out why I was so fucking angry, not just with Adam, who I’d always thought was a total prick, but with Sarah too. I think I was confused by all this shit about self-confidence and sticking up for yourself and being comfortable in your own skin, and then there she was letting a fucking monster beat her up.
I didn’t stay mad at her for long, though. I didn’t see her again for a week or two, until the weekend when she was coming back from somewhere in her car, and I was going to TK Maxx to meet Clare. It was totally awks. Adam was watching from the window. I saw him when I was locking the door. I think I was pretending to be in a hurry. She had a fucking enormous bruise that she was trying to hide under her sunglasses. As we walked past each other, I said, like really quietly, ‘What the fuck happened to your eye?’ and she kind of whispered, ‘Did you do the lighter?’ but we both said it at the same time so neither of us really heard what the other one said. We burst out laughing. And she said we really wouldn’t make very good secret agents.
That nurse, Beth, she says the police have found out about Adam’s brother now. He’s been living somewhere else. You know. Not in England. He’s only been here for like a month. When Langlands asked him what his occupation was, he said he was a businessman. Langlands asked him what that meant. He told Beth he’s well dodge. They’ve also found out about Adam. I thought they would. I actually thought that they would’ve done a dig around like straight after it happened. I mean, someone gets killed, you’d have thought they would have checked to see if they had a record, wouldn’t you? He’d almost got done for GBH. But they let him off. Not enough evidence in the end, or something. Sarah didn’t even find out about it until, what, six months ago? My mum says Sarah’s medical records have given Adam away to the police. Malin wanted to check something out about the old fracture they’d found on the MRI scan and got this entire fucking report of accidents and stuff from her doctor. It said she’d like tripped on the stairs, slipped in the bath, fallen off a stepladder, apparently. That’s apparently with a capital A. You wouldn’t believe the number of fucking accidents that can happen to one person in like two years. And neither did Malin, and neither did the police.
‘Mrs McCarthy,’ says Detective Inspector Langlands. He’s back in the Family Room. He’s actually sat in the same chair the drug smuggler was in. My mum has her back to him making tea. ‘Mrs McCarthy, regarding the list of injuries that has been supplied by the patient’s general practitioner . . .’ Why do these people always complicate things? Why don’t they just say whatever the fuck they want to know? My mum is dunking a teabag up and down in the mug. ‘It seems that the patient, um, Sarah, had und
ergone significant and diverse trauma over the course of the past two years and whilst it seems relatively possible that Sarah’s parents – Sarah’s family –’ he corrects himself, ‘who don’t live in the direct vicinity, may not have been made aware of the injuries, it is rather harder to suppose that someone living, say, next door to the victim would fail to notice, let’s say, for the sake of argument, a broken leg, Mrs McCarthy. Do you see my point?’
My mum has her mug of tea and is putting like a ton of sugar in, which is what she does when she secretly wants a port and lemon or a fat G&T.
‘Detective Inspector,’ she starts, with a sigh, which means she’s about to diss him. ‘I don’t know every single thing that may or may not have happened in Sarah and Adam’s house, despite them living, as you say, next door. I also don’t know every single thing that may or may not have happened in my other neighbour’s house either, the one who lives on the other side. In fact, I don’t even know the name of my neighbour who lives on the other side. And do you know why, Detective Inspector? Do you know why?’ (She’s getting a bit shrill now.) ‘Because I do not live in my neighbours’ houses, I live in my house. Do you know what goes in your neighbours’ houses, Detective Inspector? I don’t suppose you do, any more than I do.’
The Detective Inspector looks bloody furious. I’m pretending not to look through the glass from the corridor. I’m pretending I can’t hear anything.
‘Forgive me for pointing out the blindingly bleeding obvious, Mrs McCarthy, but you wouldn’t have to live in the same house as someone to spot a thigh-to-ankle leg brace, now, would you?’ he says, with a fat sneer on his face.
‘And on another point . . . I have been given reason to believe that Sarah was seeing a mediation counsellor at the community centre. Would you happen to know if that is correct, Mrs McCarthy?’
‘Again, Detective Inspector,’ my mum replies, gulping her tea and leaving a pink stain on the rim of the Arsenal mug, ‘I have better things to do with my time than standing around all day behind my net curtains in the hope that I see my neighbours’ comings and goings. Perhaps,’ she says with a broad smile, ‘you don’t.’
I know why my mum is lying. She doesn’t like the police. Actually, she really fucking hates the police. And she particularly really fucking hates Langlands. She literally drove Sarah to Casualty, twice, and like rang for the ambulance and everything the time she found Sarah unconscious at the bottom of her stairs. But she doesn’t see the point of the police, you see. She’s not disrespectful or nothing. She just doesn’t see what they can do. Specially after what happened with my dad. After she threw him out for stealing all the money, and he kept coming round. Kept asking to see her. Kept telling her that he missed her. Calling through the letterbox. Even after she’d thrown him out. So she called the police. And when the pigs arrived, they just beat him up. He was pissed, admittedly. But they broke his fucking ribs. Two of ’em. One minute my mum was inside trying to stop him getting inside the house. And the next minute he was lying outside on the pavement and she was trying to stop them kicking his head in. He’s never been back since. Never. Never will.
Langlands is still banging on about the mediation. How is my mum sposed to know about that? Why doesn’t he just go and ask the fucking counsellor? What a total prick. I’m pretty sure she would tell him, actually. I know it’s sposed to be like private and everything, but Adam got seriously fucked at the first appointment. He did a Special Brew special. Said there was no point in him being there. Said Sarah had no right to trick him into coming. Said there was nothing wrong with their marriage. And said that he wanted to kill her. There and then. That he was actually going to kill her. So they banned him. Hilarious. Banned from attending his own fucking mediation class. From then on they locked all the doors as soon as she was in. I think more for their own sakes than for hers, but never mind. And you know what, he waited outside for her every week. Every fucking week. Nine o’clock. By the bus shelter. With his can of Special Brew in one hand and a Marlboro Red in the other. And, according to Sarah, the mediation counsellor told her that she was never really sure that Sarah was going to make it back the following week.
My mum doesn’t know any of that, though. But she wouldn’t tell Langlands nothing even if she did.
I will wait another ten minutes and then if they don’t stop I’m gonna get the bus home. Mum’s still jabbering on about me going back to school, but I already told her Wednesday is just homework anyway. May as well do it at home. In front of Pointless.
I hear the buzzer go and there’s a few seconds before anyone comes in. The old geezer is standing there, looking expectant. When whoever it is comes through the door the old man starts to look doubtful. I’m craning my neck to see but I don’t wanna be too fucking obvious, do I?
‘Check my name, old boy! I’m on your list today alright. Mr Langlands said so. Detective Inspector Bruce Langlands, I believe he’s called.’
The old guy is searching. And then he nods to himself.
‘And your name is?’ he says.
‘Ashley Weston,’ he says. ‘Mr Ashley Weston. You want me to spell that, old man?’
Adam’s brother. What the fuck is he doing here?
‘Nooo nooo. I’ve got your name right here, lad,’ he says, and ticks his form.
I’m still craning my neck when he walks right past the door. Right past me. And he looks straight in my face. Like bold as fucking brass. Like I was scum. And he is like Adam’s twin. It’s like totally weird. I’m not even lying.
Then I hear June coming down the corridor too. Shouting at Brian as usual.
‘Hi, you must be Carol,’ he says.
Then Carol goes, ‘Oh, Ash. Yes, we spoke on the phone. Thanks so much for coming.’
‘Not the first time you’ve been either, is it, young man?’ says Brian.
‘Gosh, so sorry for the confusion. I just really wanted to make sure that Sarah was OK. I was just in shock, really.’
‘Sorry about Adam, Ash,’ says Carol, quietly. Like she’s being fucking sympathetic.
‘Yeah, we was close, you know?’ No, they fucking weren’t. What’s he lying for?
And then I can’t hear what they are saying cos they’ve walked back up the sodding hall.
What the fuck does he want? Sarah, you’d better fucking wake up fast.
33
Sarah
Day Six – 2 p.m.
‘How’s our patient doing today?’
That’s Mr Malin.
‘Isn’t it your job to tell us that?’
And that’s my sister.
‘Hmm, yes, of course. We’ve been testing Sarah’s vestibulo-ocular reflex today.’
‘Which is . . . ?’
‘We inject water into the ear.’
‘Gosh, how very technical, syringing her ears.’
‘It is actually very technical. We monitor the eye movements to see if they deviate towards the ear with the water in. If they do then the brain stem is functioning normally but consciousness is impaired. If they move the opposite way it also suggests some brain function.’
‘So, then, what happened with Sarah?’
‘Nothing, I’m afraid.’
Terrific.
‘Can we actually cut the crap, doctor? I’m so fed up of all this medical talk. Can you just tell me when she is going to wake the fuck up?’
He sighs. They’re obviously getting pissed off with her.
‘Consciousness is made up of two elements – awareness and wakefulness. At the moment you are awake and aware. Your sister is neither. What we’ve been waiting for with Sarah is to see if she finds her way back to us. What sometimes happens after a few days is that the brain function shuts down all together – that’s called being brain dead. Sometimes there is wakefulness but no awareness – that’s known as being in a vegetative state. From a vegetative state a patient may become minimally conscious with some awareness and eventually regain full consciousness. Very occasionally a person might get w
hat’s known as locked-in syndrome – where they are wakeful and aware but unable to move or speak.’
‘Which one is Sarah?’
‘We believe your sister may have suffered trauma to the brain stem. We’re not sure.’
‘And . . . ?’
‘The outcome isn’t good.’
‘But you said that she could be locked in. She could be able to hear us.’
‘It’s not likely, though. We can do more tests and see what happens.’
‘And what if she doesn’t respond? Does she just stay here for ever?
‘She will be able to go to a care home and remain on life support until such a time as you all choose to discontinue that. That’s up to you and your parents to decide.’
He’s talking really quietly. Slowly. Carefully.
‘What does that mean? Can you just say what you mean?’
‘If Sarah goes into a hospice you may think that removing her feeding tubes and turning off the life support is the kindest thing, in the circumstances. You will all be there for her. You can say goodbye. It can be a very moving –’
‘Go to hell, Mr Malin. Go to hell.’
The door has slammed. Carol has gone. Except for the hum and bleep of the machines it is silent.
‘Sarah. I don’t know if you can hear me or not.’
Malin is still here.
‘If you can hear me, I appreciate that you are feeling pretty scared right now, and I just want to explain to you that no one has given up on you. We are all here to try to help you get better. But you really are going to have to work really hard to help yourself get better too. When you first arrived on this ward we put you into what is called an induced coma – that is, we were keeping you in an unconscious state in order that we give your brain a chance to recover itself. By now, though, we have significantly reduced the intake of drugs and you should have been able to start trying to reboot your brain. I think you will understand what I mean by that. You need to remember how to open your eyes, how to move your limbs. If you concentrate really hard you will be able to do that, Sarah. And we are here watching and waiting for you to wake up. I think you can do it, Sarah. We are all right here for you.’