To Keep You Safe

by Kate Bradley

  Now I’ve got Jenni in a wheelchair. Even though I am supposed to be doing this, I can still feel my heart thumping. I push her up to reception. The ward reception window opens and the nurse looks at Jenni, ‘Hello, Jenni!’ she says brightly like she expects Jenni to answer.

  She doesn’t.

  I’ve not read Jenni’s notes because I wouldn’t be allowed to. But I know that she’s here because she’s had a breakdown. From guilt, apparently, for taking me against my will. For forcing me into her car. For letting Gary die. Aleksander. She has blood on her hands. She deserves her guilt.

  I sign Jenni out after showing my pass card.

  We are free to go. I leave and push Jenni towards the door; the door buzzes. I do a neat 180 and push it open with my back.

  I’m through.

  I push Jenni through the corridors, my senses on hyper alert. I’m expecting someone to call me back. That they would suddenly see that my bullshit of getting voluntary work in the first place because of my own mental health problems was only that: bullshit. How the work led to paid work. How the paid work led me here. I can’t believe that no one would realise the connection between us. But why should they? The HR woman who processed my application may not even have read the case and if she did, would she recognise me now? No one remembers the names of people in the news from three years ago, and they definitely don’t, if like me, your name was not reported. My criminal history check was clear as I have no convictions. My appearance was different. That heart-stopping moment when Val told me that the police wanted to charge me for my involvement in the trafficking ring would have meant that I would’ve never got this job. But they didn’t and I did.

  And now I’m pushing Jenni down the corridor towards the exit.

  I could hear every step around me. Hear every conversation. See every movement or glance my way. All the time assessing: are they looking at me because they know what I am doing? Do they know where we are going?

  But no one stops us.

  Of course they don’t: we are supposed to be going outside. I am supposed to be taking Jenni for her daily fresh air. Every day, someone does this with Jenni: today it is me. Later, an OT and an assistant are expecting me to take her to her exercise where they expect to encourage her to stand up, walk around and get moving. But I am not taking her there. By the time they realise we’ve not turned up, we’ll be long gone. And I think they won’t realise for ages because they are understaffed at the moment and struggle to get through the workload. They will think that Jenni is on the ward and the ward will think that Jenni is in OT.

  I pause by the front office. The nurse slides back the glass screen. ‘Are you new here?’

  I’ve cleared the ward, but I need to clear the hospital reception too. I try to give her a smile and force my voice to sound confident. ‘I’m Dee. I show her my I.D. I’ve been transferred to Willow over from Sycamore. I’m interested in doing my OT training,’ I add. This lie about becoming an occupational therapist is the guff I gave as the reason I was pushing for a transfer.

  ‘Well, you look after Jenni for me; she’s a big hero in our family and my sons take a special interest in how she’s doing.’

  I feel a spear of paranoia. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of her army background.’

  This isn’t what I’d feared, but I have to know. I step up close to the counter. ‘What do you mean?’

  She tells me to bring Jenni into the front office and pats the seat in front of the computer. I sit and she googles Jenni. I’ve searched her before, and brought up pages of the kidnapping articles praising her actions for standing up to Gary and Aleksander and saving Ella’s life.

  But the nurse’s search includes ‘army’ and ‘bravery’. She brings up an article I’ve never seen before. I read it.

  I sit back, shocked. She is beaming at me as if she’s just shown me her prodigal tap-dancing two-year-old. I struggle to find the words. ‘I didn’t know that,’ I say, eventually. I stare at the article which show photos of Jenni being awarded the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross.

  She looks epic in her uniform. I can’t stop staring at her. She looks so heroic, so smart, so brave. For a brief moment I think, I wish I was like her. Then appalled, I shove the thought away.

  I’ve been staring so long, I feel compelled to say something. ‘I can’t believe it.’ The nurse smiles at Jenni. ‘You’re very impressive, Jenni, don’t you forget that.’ She turns her attention to me. ‘My sons are both serving in the army and they send her stuff. Obviously, soldiers like my sons, have a whole lot of love for those who get PTSD from being in service.’

  ‘PTSD? Why has she got that when she did so well?’ Again, I feel the creep of paranoia. It’s imperative that they don’t know about me.

  ‘She couldn’t save someone.’

  Me. She couldn’t save me. ‘Who couldn’t she save?’

  ‘Well, you’ve seen that she saved two soldiers in a rescue operation but there were others she couldn’t save. Maybe it hit her harder than she let on. Dr Shanklin says she can’t get better because she won’t forgive herself for her mistakes. Make sure she gets a good spin round the block. After all, we all make mistakes, don’t we?’ She turns back to Jenni, ‘Half of life is learning to forgive yourself.’ Then to me she adds, ‘Shut the office door after you, will you? I hate the draught.’

  Dismissed, I push Jenni out of the hospital’s front doors.

  It has stopped raining. I look behind me to check that no one is watching and when it is clear that no one is around, I push her, not towards the gardens, but towards the car park.

  Wednesday

  14:24

  Destiny

  I am breathing hard, urgent breaths. Although I am pushing her fast – not too fast that it is obvious that I am up to something – but pacy, and while I want to get to my car as soon as possible, my laboured breathing is not from the effort. Nor is it because I am breaking the law; I have broken it before and never looked back when I did it. Nor is it because I know how this day ends – I’m not afraid. But I am fearful of being stopped.

  This is so important to me: it is all I have thought about, worked towards, for three long, lonely years.

  My car is purposefully parked next to the path, by the hedge. If I am going to get caught, it is now. If someone sees me on the CCTV, they will realise that I am breaking the rules. But it is possible that they won’t. Not all the wards at this hospital are locked wards, many are open for patients who have chosen to come here. Besides, I remind myself, I’ve already passed the two points of security. Now we look like a patient and staff from the other wards, where patients are taken out regularly; trips to the shops, trips out with family. I have thought this through – I think I can do this.

  I park her next to my old Peugeot. I already have my car keys in my hand: I unclick it. ‘We are here,’ I tell Jenni.

  I feel a flutter of something I can’t place. It feels strange to directly address her again. When I thought of this, I thought of Jenni but it was a cardboard cut-out version, something not quite real. But she is here now and real under my touch as I reach out and take her arm and it occurs to me – suddenly, how did I not consider this? – that she might not comply. She is too big for me to force. Panicked, I keep my voice sunshine bright. ‘We are going out for a day trip in my car! Isn’t that wonderful?’ She doesn’t move; she doesn’t even blink. ‘But we have to be quick! Let’s get going! Upsy daisy!’

  She stands up and beneath the mountain rock of relief, I am also surprised by her height. I’d forgotten how tall she is. I open the passenger door and help her in. I am struck by this reversal of our situations, me helping her into my car, a strange mirror image of only three years ago. I realise I even bought a blue Peugeot. I feel a bit sick that I did not grasp this at the time.

  Jenni gets in and I put her seat belt on. She hasn’t spoken to me, only looking into the vague distance. I wonder what goes on in her head, if anything.

  I walk round the car and get
in. With shaking hands I turn the key. I imagined this going well and now it is, I can’t quite believe it. I drive slowly out of the car park and turn onto the road.

  In only twenty minutes we will be there. And there it will end.

  Wednesday

  15:10

  Destiny

  I follow the winding roads that weave through green fields filled with sheep. The sky is blue and huge, the type of perfect cornflower blue that inspires poetry and postcards. We have left the bad weather behind us. I love that about here – how the sea wind and the cliffs pull the bad weather away up and over the over side of the Downs. That’s why the Victorians headed to Eastbourne for their health.

  Seeing the sky gives me an odd feeling – it takes a moment to place it and I realise that I want to write a poem. There was a time when I liked poetry, feeling the quiet thrill when we covered it in English classes. Even in the children’s home, I would secretly write a few stanzas of my own. Then when I was with Aleksander, I wrote him love poetry; he loved it, declared me a genius and found a place where he could publish my own booklet, or pamphlet as he called it. He said my work deserved it. At first, I’d pushed the idea away, but he persisted. I was choosing my favourites for the collection when he died.

  Aleksander would’ve loved a day like this, skies so blue, the open clifftop. We used to come here together. If we were together now, I’d write a poem for him.

  I almost want Jenni to say something, to comment on the endless sky, just so I don’t feel so lonely. But she says nothing.

  What happened to her, I briefly wonder, thinking of the medal. I grip the wheel. Shut up, Destiny. Even if I insist on others calling me Dee when I’m cross with myself or upset, I still can’t help but call myself Destiny. Shut up because you know what happened to her. You happened to her.

  I think again – what did I do that was so wrong? What did I do that caused all this? She had a good thing; I had a good thing. She was a maths teacher and I had an amazing relationship with Aleksander – the only relationship I’d ever had where there was only kindness and no disappointment. He never let me down.

  I blink against a different memory of him. No, he was perfect, I force myself to think. I will only remember the good times. I grip the wheel. He was perfect, he was; he gave me a future. Without him I have none.

  I pull up to the clifftop car park. There’s a few cars here, day-trippers, people with dogs, walkers and birdwatchers with binoculars or long lenses.

  I check my rear-view. Nothing behind us. I yank up the handbrake; it makes a crunching sound and Jenni turns to look at it.

  Jenni.

  Sitting here in the car reminds me of what I had forgotten. That she wanted to save me. But I didn’t need saving – not from Aleksander.

  Fuck her, she was crazy. Crazy, crazy and sucked me into her madness with her.

  Perhaps, an irritating voice whispers, perhaps she thought she was doing the right thing.

  I pause, then, not wanting to feel the confusion, get out. I walk round the car to the passenger door. My feet crunch against the chalk rubble of the car park. I inhale ozone, sea-salt, the freshness of the wind. I love the smell of the sea.

  I get her wheelchair out and open her door. Without saying anything, I grab her arm. I pull her and transfer her into her chair.

  I push her across the car park to the sea, to the clifftop. We keep going. It’s hard; a struggle. The ground inclines in places and Jenni is a dead weight in the chair. But I’m strong, determined and the ground is hard with only sparse grass, so the tyres push over it easily with me as the brute force behind it.

  The wind picks up as we head towards the cliff. I have dreamt of this moment. We move in silence, my knuckles white against the handles.

  Wednesday

  15:38

  Destiny

  Most people stick to the path that edges the cliff, but we go beyond. Beyond that is the edge. I know this place well. I always come alone – except for today. Today is the day I have planned for.

  We approach warning signs, with pictures and words shouting about rock falls and crumbling edges. The signs tell us to stay back. Other signs are from the Samaritans, offering a listening service to those who are suicidal. We pass them and leave them behind.

  Only then do we reach the cliff.

  I park Jenni next to the edge. I put the brake on. We won’t have long before someone approaches us. A chalk rock dislodges and falls, bouncing down the white cliff face; to lean over to see where it lands would mean we would follow. Danger is here: we are five hundred feet up and the waves crash below. The wind has picked up, an occasional cloud now crossing the sky. Most people would baulk at this – but Jenni doesn’t even seem to notice the height.

  I stand behind her chair. Jenni’s feet, in the foot plates, are inches over the edge. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. She is fearless, but then again, she always was. An army hero. I consider this and suddenly feel a swell of admiration for this woman. Was there nothing she couldn’t do? So why couldn’t she suddenly cope? Why did she have a breakdown?

  Perhaps I spoke this question aloud because she answered it, her voice rusty like an old hinge: ‘Because I took you.’

  I’m standing behind her, ready to push her over the edge. I always knew that I would have to go to prison for killing her, but I have no life to walk away from. I am content that if I am not seen doing this, I will hand myself into the police straight after. I want to be punished for killing Jenni; I will do it for Aleksander, for his memory. I want to give my life to avenge his.

  I am ready.

  I had my childhood, then I had my time with Aleksander and then I’ve had this dead zone of time being alone. I can’t wait to move into my next stage, where I will leave my life as it is and go to prison. It will be fair that I go there and there I will fulfil my natural destiny – perhaps my mother always knew I could never escape it. And there I won’t be alone. There I will not have to try any more.

  But her sudden voice, its clarity, surprises me. She knows it’s me! This is no catatonic woman – she knows what she is doing. Has she been fooling them? Fooling me? The wind picks up and as though this is my first time here, I’m suddenly acutely aware of how far up we are. How precarious our situation is – how precarious my situation is. ‘Is there nothing wrong with you?’

  ‘Yes there is.’

  ‘They told me you didn’t talk.’

  ‘It wasn’t them I needed to talk to.’ I see her swallow, trying to work her throat. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  I swallow against the dry of my throat. I’ve imagined sitting here with Jenni over and over, but I did not imagine this. ‘Why have you been waiting?’ I thought I had been so smart – finding out where she was, blagging my way into a position of trust, waiting. But all the time, she was waiting for me.

  ‘Will you . . .’ her voice breaks even more: ‘Will you sit next to me? Please?’

  I do. I hang my legs over the edge of the cliff and I breathe deeply. I should’ve pushed her by now, but everything is different to what I’d planned. I have to know. And as I sit looking out across the sea that continues endlessly into a distance I can’t see, I know it will end.

  Very soon.

  Tuesday

  15:50

  Destiny

  She puts her hand on my shoulder; it feels heavy. I feel the proximity of her. There’s nothing behind us and nothing in front of us and only hundreds of feet of indifferent air to fall through before hitting the hard, stony beach and cold water. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

  ‘What for?’ I say angrily, snatching my shoulder away. I don’t want her hand on me, I don’t want an apology – I don’t want anything from her.

  I expect her to say lots of things, but I don’t expect her to say what she did. ‘Because I shouldn’t have let you kill your boyfriend.’

  I hold my breath. I could hear the sound of the sea smashing its steady current against the shore. I could hear the roar of bang
ing blood in my ears.

  My first thought is: did anyone hear? I look over my shoulder, but no one is near . . . yet. Only me and Miss know the truth. I’ve always known that one day she will get better and then . . .

  But if she is dead, then it will only be me and then perhaps it will be like it’s not real any more. Perhaps when there is only me to change things to being how I want them to be, perhaps that becomes the new truth and the only one that matters.

  ‘I should’ve moved quicker,’ she says, her words a tumble. ‘I was unprepared. I let you down. You were a child. You shouldn’t have had to live with that.’

  A bruised cloud covers the sun; we are cast into shadow.

  I want to say, No. I did not kill Aleksander, you did.

  But I don’t say that. I let her put her hand back on my shoulder and this time I don’t move away. Instead I think of the nurse saying, We all make mistakes.

  I thought of Val saying: You mustn’t let your anger drive your actions, Dee.

  I remember my mother saying, When you’ve lost it, nothing can touch you . . . I kept sharp things out of your way.

  But the gun was there with nobody to keep it out of my way.

  Tears are rolling down my face. Of course I know this. I was there.

  I remember the searing anger when I found Gary dead. Aleksander had ignored my pleas to leave Gary alone, ignored me just like everyone else had always done. The surprise was like being dropped into a deep snow drift. My whole life, Aleksander was the only person who didn’t ignore me and then when he did, it felt horrific that he was like everyone else and I realised that everything I thought we had was all fake because he was going to do anything he wanted and when people did whatever they wanted to, it was never any good. Not for me. And I looked down and it wasn’t good because Gary was bleeding out.