For an indeterminable period of time, George pours over its contents. I try to gauge his reaction from his facial expression, but he is giving nothing away. Eventually he raises his head, shutting the notebook simultaneously. He is quiet, obviously taking his time to choose his words carefully. “I can see you have been through a very traumatic time, Thomas.” It is a rhetorical statement. I bow my head in silent acknowledgement. “We have work to do, and I don’t think the hospital is the best place for you.” His words set off a blind panic within me and what happens next is a blur but I can feel myself being physically restrained until yet another shot is administered.
When I eventually come back to life, I get a shock – George is still here. He sees the panic start to rise in me all over again and he is quick to act. “Thomas, no, it’s OK, you are not going to come to any harm, I promise you that. Please, relax.” Something about his tone and demeanour have the desired effect, I believe him. “I hope I am not over-stepping the mark here but the panic you experienced earlier, was that brought on by the prospect of going back to the croft?”
I have never admitted this to a living sole and I find myself nodding in agreement. “Given what you’ve been through, that’s completely understandable. Please can we start again? I need to firstly make it clear; I don’t mean a return to the croft, Thomas, but do you feel that you should still be in hospital?” I simply shrug. Where else would I go? “If I could find somewhere for you to stay, somewhere safe, what would you say?”
“I can’t leave mother, Juliet, and James with him but … I can’t go back.”
At this, I start weeping, my whole body shaking and shuddering as the tears come unbounded, flowing freely. I know there is no way I can go back there, but leave my loved ones to his mercy? There is no stopping the torrent of emotion which pours out and George moves from his seat and holds me, squeezing me tightly. If anything, it has the impact of making the tears come on even stronger in waves. Being held like that felt so good but this simple act of kindness tipped me over the edge, and I stayed like that weeping in his arms until there was nothing left.
“Leave it with me, son. I will speak to the staff here and see what we can do. You may have to undergo a psychiatric evaluation so the specialists can assess your mental state before we move forwards. But please, most importantly, do not worry. My priority is with your safety, first and foremost. Rest up and I’ll see you again tomorrow.” From this encounter it was evident I now had a confidante, someone with whom I could share my problems with. He has read about my deepest, darkest moments and hasn’t ran away. It gives me a small glimmer of hope.
But I am also left somewhat confused. He knows from my confessions in my notebook that I am partly to blame for Caroline’s death. Why is he being caring and compassionate towards me? Perhaps this is just a smokescreen? Perhaps he plans to hand the notebook over to the Police as evidence. Then my mind starts to conjure up all kinds of scenarios. I imagine the Police will appear at my hospital bed sometime soon to read me my rights …
CHAPTER 18
Present Day
George
A
s we take off on our journey, I glance over at Thomas in my rear-view mirror sitting next to his wife and I cast my mind back to our first meetings all those years ago when he was in hospital. It was highly unusual for me to be called upon to visit a client who was still being treated in a hospital. In fact, highly unusual doesn’t cover it, I have simply never been asked to do it before in all the years I have been practicing as a counsellor. However, this was no ordinary case.
The medical staff simply did not know what to do with Thomas. The trauma he was experiencing on a daily basis was unlike anything they had encountered before. They had been managing his outbursts by administering shots of sedative at varying degrees of strength but that could only ever continue in the short term. Seriously concerned for his welfare and unable to send him back home at this point, they searched for a local counsellor who specialised in dealing with children affected by trauma, hence my involvement. He needed an extensive psychiatric evaluation, but he was so traumatised at the time, they figured it might help to bring me in to calm things down in the meantime.
What I didn’t see coming was the way he moved me. It is at the very core of your training not to become involved with any of your clients. Be sympathetic, yes; compassionate, definitely, but always, always remain objective. Something about the boy called out to me and I knew from that first visit I had to help him. Years of pain and trauma had left their mark. He wore that pain like a suit of armour, and it was going to take time to get him to fully trust in me to be able to work with him. In those early days, however, I think he was just grateful to see a friendly face.
I felt encouraged when staff had told me that my visits were having a positive impact. His uncontrollable and incoherent outbursts were happening less and less frequently. I remember on one of those early visits passing him a notebook and pen, unsure whether he would be able to transfer some of his pain and anguish trapped within onto paper. What I read chilled me to the core.
What Thomas had endured at the hands of his father was abhorrent. But it became evident as I read on why he was experiencing all these outbursts in hospital. He blamed himself entirely for what had happened to Caroline. Some of the writing was illegible as you could see it had been scrawled and written with haste but there was no mistaking the overall sentiment – he had laid the entirety of the blame firmly with himself.
I have kept the notebook and his file. They are still housed in my office. This morning I leafed through the pages of the notebook again, remembering how raw and vulnerable Thomas was at that time. The writing would flow well, then there would be scribblings and ranting phrases in the margin of the page or whole sections scored out. Some of the phrases where he has tried to emphasise a point are written with a very heavy hand. So much so, there are pages which are torn where the pen has ripped right through. And some pages were ripped out entirely.
Some of the legible rants included ‘THE BLOOD IS ON MY HANDS!’, ‘She is an angel, I am the DEVIL’, ‘No-one will love you now, Thomas!’ (This one in particular gave me cause for concern as he was writing about himself in third person). And worryingly, ‘You might as well end it all now.’ He was only fourteen years old, way too young to be having suicidal thoughts.
Throughout his description of the events at Neist Point on the day he ended up being admitted to hospital, he never once held his father accountable for anything. Even his own injuries – he believed it was what he deserved, and more. He describes losing his sister Caroline and that her demise was entirely his fault. We had a lot of work to do. Once he had been through a thorough psychiatric evaluation, I remember reading the report (a copy of which is also still kept in my office) which gave me a better understanding on how to work with him.
Looking in my rear-view mirror again, I see that same troubled, lost soul looking back at me now. I had to bring him back, it was obvious he had never worked through everything. His case has haunted me over the years. I had to step in again and help Thomas find closure once and for all.
I was well aware he had created a good life for himself but, at the same time, was also well aware that he had never fully dealt with all the demons from his past. To this day I know he still blames himself and we have to put an end to this. He has to be made aware of the full facts, revisiting it as an adult and facing it all over again. I only hope he is strong enough to deal with it all now. We shall soon find out …
CHAPTER 19
Present Day
Janey
I
can see George occasionally glancing back at Thomas in his rear-view mirror and realise that he is as nervous as I am. Riding in the back of the car I end up turning my attention out of the window, not wanting Thomas to see the beads of sweat popping up on my forehead. I have been periodically squeezing his hand in a gesture of reassuring support but had to loosen my grip as I felt my hands starting to go clammy too
.
I was anxious for what lay ahead for him but, at the same time, anxious for the future of our relationship. The thing is, I had known Thomas for longer than he realised. I remember that day like it was yesterday, seeing his fragile limp body lying there, left for dead in the middle of a fierce snowstorm. I watched in horror as his father delivered that fatal blow. He then paused to look around, obviously checking that there were no witnesses, then he took off without so much as a backwards glance. It was then I screamed for my aunt and we phoned the Police.
It has pained me over the years when Thomas had tried to discuss his father with me and his upbringing in the croft. I think he has tried to shield me from the truth, not wanting to admit to me what a monster he truly is. How do I tell him I already know all of this? That I have witnessed it for myself with my own eyes? He doesn’t even know I have a connection to Skye myself; that I had an aunt and cousins living here. (My aunt has since passed away, but I believe my cousins are still living here.)
More importantly, his biggest question is bound to be how did we end up together? If he knew I was that little girl staring out of the window that day and that I notified the authorities, it would shake the very foundations of our relationship and potentially tear us apart.
I was having recurring nightmares, the horrid scene playing over and over in my mind. Yes, I had called for help but a huge part of me wished I could have done more. I had helped the Police with their enquiries, giving them all the information I could, but then it all went quiet, and I wasn’t ready to just close the door and move on.
It was at this point that George Traynor contacted me. He informed me that he was working with Thomas in a counselling capacity and was keen to build up a full picture of Thomas’ background and crucially what happened at Neist Point on February 12th, 1998. I was only too happy to help, still traumatised myself from what I had witnessed that day and full of concern for Thomas’ welfare. Thomas was a virtual stranger to me, yet our paths had collided, and I was willing to do all I could to help. Seeing him there lying limp and lifeless had had a profound effect on me. Little did I know then that the poor lost soul left for dead at Neist Point would one day become my husband and father of my only child.
I had been staying at the lighthouse keepers’ cottages on holiday with my aunt. We had various activities planned but I recall our plans changed when (as is customary on Skye) the weather took a turn for the worse. I have always had a fascination with wild weather, so I remember, on that fateful day, I had been transfixed, staring out of the window when the snowstorm hit. I had hoped I would’ve been able to get out to explore in the snow, but it was far too wild, especially once the wind picked up speed. Imagine my surprise then when I saw lone figures appearing and heading in the direction of the tip of Neist Point. I knew there was something decidedly wrong about the scene. No-one in their right mind would have been out in that storm! They seemed to be almost oblivious of the conditions, so wrapped up they were in their ensuing altercation.
When I saw the older gentleman (now my father-in-law) deliver that vicious blow, I remember being in complete shock. I had been brought up in a close-knit, loving family and had never witnessed any violence. It shook me to the core. The callous nature with which the blow was delivered then him taking off like that, clearly the only thought in his mind being to save his own skin. In that moment I wanted to wrap my arms around poor Thomas, lying there, left for dead.
It was too wild, and he was too far away for me to see his face, but I can picture it in my mind’s eye for I often see it in my now husband’s face. When he has a dark day, I see that little boy lost look and I imagine this is what was etched on his face that day just before he was struck down and lost consciousness.
It has been so hard over the years keeping this secret from him. I can see he has wrestled with his demons from the past and, although he tries to hide it, I know him only too well. That pain is still there and is still very raw. There have been so many occasions I have been sorely tempted to just blurt it out, ‘I know all about what happened, Thomas! I was there!’ But each time my head has ruled over my heart and rendered me mute. To tell the truth would mean opening a Pandora’s Box and I truly don’t know whether our relationship could withstand the ramifications of that happening.
When I initially responded to George’s request to see me it was of course in the capacity as someone who witnessed everything unfold at Neist Point. George was keen to hear about what happened that day from someone who saw it all first-hand. I can remember sheepishly entering his offices with my aunt, quite unsure what to expect. She waited for me outside.
He put me at ease immediately and didn’t push for information. He seemed quite happy to sit back and take things at a pace I was comfortable with. Part way through as I was recalling the story, he could hear my voice falter and saw the tears begin to well up in my eyes, so he kindly pushed the box of tissues in my direction. At this point I went to pieces. Everything came out. I told George about my recurring nightmares and about how I kept seeing the image of Thomas’ body lying there. It was haunting me in the waking hours too.
He remained calm and sympathetic. We talked for around an hour and he suggested I come and see him again before the end of my holidays. I only had a few days left and with this incident hanging over me I reasoned what harm could it do?
In the end I saw him twice before I left Skye. During these visits he counselled me (at no cost) to try to help me recover from what I had witnessed that day. It did help. When I left Skye, I still thought about Thomas, but the nightmares became less and less frequent. That being said, I never forgot about him. Periodically I would ask after him when I contacted my aunt and cousins. My aunt knew of Mary, Thomas’ mother, through a friend of hers and was able to keep me informed (to a degree) about how he was getting on.
I am so grateful George didn’t act over familiar with me when we met up again the other day. He recognised me immediately, as I did him, but he didn’t allude to it. I was able to give a slight shake of my head to warn him to keep quiet when Thomas turned around to him to introduce us. Thankfully, he seemed to pick up on this and my body language and I think Thomas was none the wiser. Really, why on earth would he think we would know each other? That would make no sense in Thomas’ head so I am quite sure if he did see any flicker of recognition or something just not quite right that he would simply brush it off. However, it had been difficult keeping my cool.
When I saw George, I couldn’t quite believe it. It felt as though we had taken a step back in time, the three of us, reliving the past. And when George said it would be OK for me to stay at his house with Thomas, well it was all too much! I want to be there for my husband yes, but shacked up in George’s house, I would feel completely suffocated and on edge. Would he be able to keep the pretence going if I stayed there? Mercifully, he didn’t pursue it and both George and Thomas seemed to respect the fact I was happy to stay at the apartment.
I have kept this secret throughout our relationship and, in the recent years, have convinced myself there was no chance he would ever find out. In truth, I put it to the back of my mind. But when he took off back up here and then I discovered he was staying with George … well I could really feel myself sitting on shaky ground. However, it appears as though George too has kept things quiet at his end. I have no other option than to hope and pray he will continue to maintain his silence.
I reminisce about the first time Thomas and I ‘officially’ met. I left secondary school with decent grades and had my pick of colleges or universities. I ended up opting to study English at Edinburgh University. I was well into my first semester when a friend suggested I join the debating team. At the time I was quite outspoken and passionate about environmental issues, so this friend thought it’d be a great idea to channel this enthusiasm. Imagine my surprise when I attended for the first time fashionably late (as usual) only to find Thomas Taylor in full flow, fervidly stating his case on why the death penalty should be abolished.
There was no denying it was him. He was older yes, but it was still clearly Thomas. It was very fortunate he had been in full flow because otherwise he would have noticed me standing there open-mouthed in abject shock. And, also fortunate no-one else had been with me at the time as there was no way I was ready to talk about how I knew of him.
I took a seat in the wings, happy to sit and watch. He was mesmerising. He had clearly done a lot of preparation because his argument was compelling, and he wiped the floor with his opponent. I was intrigued and captivated in equal measure. It was truly amazing how that poor lifeless boy from years ago who had been treated so cruelly at the hands of the one person who was supposed to love and nurture him, had turned into this confident, articulate man who stood before me today.
Initially there was no physical attraction there, but I was inexplicably drawn towards him. I wanted to spend as much time as I could in his company. At this point, I am quite sure he didn’t even know I existed! He was very serious, spending lots of time studying and had very little down time. If being a constant fixture in the debating team was the only way I was going to get to spend time around him, then so be it. It had forced me (for once) to get serious about something and I remember the day he first really saw me for the first time …
I was passionate about campaigning on any environmental issues so had been thrilled when, finally, a topic came up for debate which I could really get stuck in to – ‘Climate change is the greatest threat facing humanity today.’ I threw my heart and soul into it and it was evident from the start my opponent only had a couple of good points to make whereas I could have talked all day and night on the subject. I was completely in the zone and, at this point, unaware of Thomas’ presence in the room. It was only when we were leaving, he approached me and I can’t recall the exact words he used but it was something along the lines of doing an excellent job and yes, that was it, he was ‘inspired.’
IT’S TIME: COULD YOU RISK YOUR SANITY TO SAVE YOURSELF? Page 17