The enforced separation had occurred at five thirty, teatime. She had hated the emptiness that his little body had left within the circle of her arm. Even now she could feel his imprint against her.
Thelma had given her a tour of the classrooms, equally vivid and bright. She’d seen the pencils with specially designed handles, seats used to facilitate movement and posture, adaptive aids for turning pages, reaching, eating. She’d even seen computers equipped with infrared cameras that determined where the eye was looking and activated accordingly. In half a day she had seen and learned so much. The thought of getting into her car and driving away choked her.
‘You won’t be able to see him again tonight, I’m afraid. After tea it’s bath time and calming-down time, ready for sleep.’
‘I understand.’
‘You’d be surprised how many parents don’t. Don’t get me wrong, we love parental input, it takes the strain off us, but sometimes they can’t comprehend the need for routine in their children’s lives. They come at the weekend and want to cram a whole week’s worth of loving and spoiling into two days. Most of the children don’t understand the concept of weekend, they only know familiar faces are here. Then the parents have to return to their everyday lives and we’re left to restore the safe routine that they know. Then the next weekend it all happens again.’
Fran observed the warmth behind the harsh words. ‘I get the feeling you wouldn’t swap it for anything.’
‘Not a chance! This house is my life. I love these children more than anything, their openness, their trust, their individual quirks, their laughter… Please, Fran, don’t think that because they’re disabled they’re unhappy. They don’t know any other way of life. Some of them could survive outside but their parents prefer them to be here. They are taught, encouraged to grow and improve. We have some of the best knowledge in the country here.’
Fran speared a piece of macaroni. She couldn’t wait for the following day, but she had questions and she felt she could ask this woman anything.
‘But if the children could survive in normal daily life, isn’t it wrong for them to be here?’
At this Thelma stiffened and placed her fork on the table. ‘Wrong, how? In this environment they have the interaction with other children like themselves. No one stares at them, no one points. They have the freedom of a massive house with fifteen acres. They have school, play, physical and speech therapy and they have love. Our aim is to give them the best quality of life possible and we do that. I’m not saying they should stay here forever but special kids who are forced into a life outside are often pressurised by family members.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘If they go to school with normal children or eventually go to work with normal people it is easier for the parents of special children to believe that they are normal. The terms I use are probably not as politically correct as they should be but what I’m trying to say is that in many cases it is for the parents’ benefit more than the child’s.’
‘So you think all disabled children should live in a place like this?’
Thelma resumed eating. ‘Heavens no! But I ask you this, would you want Jamie to be the only disabled child in his school? Would you want him being pointed at and stared at and made fun of by other children? Would you like him to return at night frightened and confused because he couldn’t learn at their speed?’
‘No,’ she replied honestly.
‘Exactly. I don’t think every disabled child should be institutionalised but I think young children need time to grow the confidence that is needed to live in the real world. And if they don’t want to leave they shouldn’t be forced to by anyone, not even family.’
‘But shouldn’t the parents be more actively involved?’ Fran hated the thought of parents visiting and then leaving for the week.
‘We have no restrictions on parental involvement. We organise day trips, short breaks away, and anyone is welcome to join us, but make no mistake, the children are always glad to come home. This is their home. Here they can be completely themselves without threat of danger, embarrassment or ridicule. The diseases of the children here differ from cerebral palsy to spina bifida to kids like Jamie but one thing they have in common is the right to happiness.’
Thelma checked her watch. ‘No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid. Time to tuck the little ones in.’
‘All of them?’ Fran asked. There had to be two hundred children in the facility.
‘That’s my job.’
Fran nodded, trying not to envy the woman’s task. She wanted to cry out ‘Take me, I’ll help’ but she knew what the response would be. And she could understand. There was no way she would be here to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight every single day of the week so it would be selfish to start it.
Thelma paused at the door and studied Fran for a moment. ‘I have to say there is no family resemblance at all.’
Fran smiled. ‘I’m afraid my father and I would be mistaken for complete strangers.’
Confusion brought slight furrows to Thelma’s forehead. ‘Oh no, dear, I’ve never met your father! It was your mother I was talking about.’
Thelma closed the door behind her, unaware of the bewilderment she’d left behind. Fran’s eyes stared unseeing at the picture-covered wall. For eight years her mother had visited Jamie without one word to her about his existence. She’d been in this very building, maybe even this room, and had easily lied to her all this time. Even during the early months when Fran’s pain must have been obvious to the world; her belief that his death had somehow been caused by herself; that she had exercised too much, not enough; that she had eaten the wrong food; that during the difficult labour with no medical attention she’d done something wrong. When would it ever end? Her parents were even lying to each other.
When would the house that Jack built finally fall?
15
Kit
The ringing phone held little interest for Kit any more. Not when there wasn’t any chance of it being Mark. If it was Tyler ringing to cancel their date tomorrow then he could tell her at work in the morning. She smiled smugly. That would make life a little difficult for him as no one knew about the few times they’d seen each other.
‘Christ, piss off!’ she shouted at the ringing that was grating on her nerves. It certainly wasn’t Tyler, he never rang for this long.
She lifted herself slowly from the sofa. She just hoped it was a salesperson of some description – she was just in the mood.
‘Hello,’ she barked into the receiver.
A small squeak sounded at the other end.
‘Hello,’ she repeated.
A sob.
‘If this is someone trying to piss—’
‘Kit—’
‘Fran, is that you? What’s wrong? Where are you?’
‘I think it’s called Macy’s. It’s on the—’
‘Are you in Macy’s wine bar?’
‘Er… yes, I think I am.’
‘Fran, have you had a drink?’
‘I think I’m about to,’ Fran said with the voice of a child.
Oh God, what can I do? Kit thought frantically. This is bad, very bad.
‘Have you actually taken a drink yet?’
‘Umm… I don’t think so,’ she replied vaguely.
‘Listen, don’t move a muscle. I mean it, Fran, stay where you are and whatever you do, don’t touch that drink, okay?’
‘But I want to, I need to—’
‘Fran, I said no. Don’t touch it.’
‘But it’s looking at me.’
‘Fran, no!’
‘Just get here quickly, Kit, please.’
Kit threw down the receiver, grabbed her coat and ran out of the door. She knew where Macy’s was and if God was on her side she wouldn’t have to wait too long for a taxi.
She ran down the stairs as though she was going for a gold medal. No passing taxis. She sprinted to the main road that ran along the bottom of her street. Within five m
inutes she was speeding towards the wine bar.
It was dark inside, and filled with a Thursday night crowd, mainly lads beginning the weekly wind-down. Kit could hear the monotonous boom-boom-boom thundering from the nightclub below. It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust. She scanned until she found what she was looking for.
She tried to sidestep a youth whose hair looked as though it had been gelled within an inch of its life. He almost fell on her. She caught the fumes before he opened his mouth. He swayed in front of her as his eyes tried to fix on her face but seemed to be looking over her shoulder.
‘Hello, gorgeous, fancy a—’
‘Fuck off!’ she barked, pushing him aside.
Fran sat hunched in a dark corner. Kit slid into the curved seat beside her.
‘Hello Kit,’ she said without taking her eyes off the glass in the middle of the table.
Kit appraised her quickly. She looked awful. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes drawn and red, but her appearance wasn’t Kit’s chief concern.
‘Have you touched it?’
Fran shook her head. ‘I was just about to when I called you.’
Thank God for that, Kit thought, letting out a sigh that had been building since she’d replaced the receiver.
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
‘I’ve been to see him. I just got back,’ she said, tipping her head slightly.
‘Yes, I know, you’ve been to see your son,’ Kit repeated, trying to ease her along slowly. She knew how excited Fran had been about going. They’d spoken the night before she went.
‘He’s lovely,’ she continued. ‘He’s my son and I love him. He let me play with him,’ she added sadly.
Fran raised her head and Kit tried not to panic when she saw Fran’s eyes in the darkness. They were empty, like her mother’s had been in The Briars all those years ago. She shuddered as she tried to understand. It sounded as though the visit had gone well. What was wrong with her?
‘Fran, talk to me,’ Kit ordered.
‘Why did they do it, Kit?’
Kit didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure who had done what but felt sure it had to concern her parents. ‘I don’t know, Fran.’
‘Does everyone hate me? Am I so horrible? Why did they take my son away? Why?’
Kit’s heart ached for her. She could not imagine the pain of what Fran had been through or the facts she’d been forced to face about her parents. ‘I wish I knew, but only they can tell you that.’
‘But they hid my son from me for eight years. How could my mother do that when she knows how it feels to give birth?’
From what Kit had heard about Fran’s mother, she suspected Fran had been grown in a test tube to avoid any inconvenience.
‘It’s the lies I can’t stand. I’m in a maze and every way I turn the lies get worse. My father doesn’t know that my mother visits Jamie. She doesn’t know that he received regular progress reports about him and I didn’t even know he existed.’
Kit watched as her face became more animated. ‘But what I don’t understand, Kit, is, if they both cared so much about him, why was he taken away in the first place?’
Kit listened as her friend talked. It was all that she could do. That and make sure Fran didn’t touch the glass in the middle of the table. This figure before her bore no resemblance to the woman she’d met a few months earlier. Gone was the rigid control that decided the order of her clothes, thoughts, even her opinions. The clothes were still expensive but they didn’t look it. Fran looked as if she’d just stepped out of the ironing basket and desperately needed pressing.
Kit could see that there was a difficult choice forcing itself on her friend. So far Fran had accepted everything her parents had done to her without question, but the weight of her continued acceptance was now flattening her.
‘I’ve got this feeling inside me, Kit, and I’m scared of it. It’s huge and it wants to come out and destroy them both. It’s eating away at my stomach and I can’t control it.’
Kit smiled. ‘That’s called anger, Fran. Don’t fight it. You’ve fought it down for too many years. Don’t be frightened of it. It’s healthy after what you’ve learned.’ She paused to make sure Fran understood her words. ‘At some stage it will have to come out. For your own sanity you’re going to have to tell them how you feel before you can move on with your life. You’re no good to anyone with “wipe your feet” tattooed across your forehead.’ Kit squeezed her arm to soften the words.
Fran nodded. ‘I know, but my life has changed so much I don’t even know who I am any more. I have no job, no friends, no family…’
‘Now you just listen here, Frances Thornton, if you don’t count me as a friend then why the hell did you call me?’ Kit shouted, ignoring the curious glances.
‘I didn’t mean you.’
‘I know,’ Kit said, softening.
‘You’re my best friend. You’re the best friend in the world. Don’t leave me,’ she cried as the tears started to fall.
Kit moved closer and reached for Fran’s hand. ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ll always be here, Fran, but you have so much more than just me.’
A spark of interest lit her eyes. ‘You have Martine now. You have your son, your new career. Fran, your life is beginning over. You should be shouting from the rooftops. Everything you have now is because of you, not your mother. She’d hardly have picked me as a friend for you. She didn’t introduce you to Martine and she certainly didn’t force you to leave your job. Your life is changing for the better because of you, not her. You’re going in the direction that’s right for you. It might give her a seizure but that’s just an added bonus.’
In spite of her tears Fran chuckled.
Kit took a deep breath and pulled the offending glass closer. ‘Fran, this is the hardest thing you’re ever going to have to face and it’s not going to leave you. Every crisis, every drama, and you’re going to want to do this but you had the strength not to. You have to hold on to that. You called me instead and now I want to drink it,’ she joked.
Fran squeezed her hand and smiled as she brushed the tears away. ‘Thank you,’ she managed hoarsely.
‘Come on, Fran, I think it’s time I got you home,’ Kit said softly as she guided her friend out of the wine bar.
Kit knew as she sat facing Tyler that the time had come. Four weeks they had been seeing each other and she knew that she needed to decide where they were going. To judge by the upmarket restaurant they were sitting in, she guessed he knew it too. Chanel suits and Hermès scarves littered the room. The smell as she’d entered had almost choked her. Kit guessed these women enjoyed wearing just a little clothing with their perfume. It was almost like a pissing contest, she thought. Who could wear the strongest, most expensive perfume with the shortest name, or even just an exclamation mark – that seemed to be the fashion at the moment. Which one would suit me? Kit wondered. Apostrophe perhaps?
There he goes, she observed, glancing at Tyler. That horrible little wave as he notices his friends. I’ll sit back and peruse the menu. Hmm… peruse, now there’s a good word. I’ll let Tyler know that’s my word of the day. He will be pleased.
What the hell is wrong with me? she chastised herself. I’m in a trendy restaurant with a fashionable man. Or should that be the other way around? I’m not sure. So why do I suddenly feel like shoving two breadsticks up my nose and impersonating a walrus?
Kit realised she had far too much time to think, as she looked across at Tyler surveying the menu. Why bother? He’d have prawns, he always had prawns. He caught her glance and smiled and she knew that tonight she would have to decide if their relationship would go any further.
At first she’d hoped that he would be the antidote to the poison that ran around her blood like a virus, called Mark. She’d wondered if this was a man who could make her forget that last night that she’d seen him and the terrible things she’d said.
The first few times she’d been out with Tyler she’d enjoyed the eas
y, unchallenging conversations they had. It was what she wanted. They’d discussed work, films, music and books – all the things that Kit wanted to discuss. Things that would interest her but not provoke any emotional input. But she often found herself biting her tongue, holding back opinions that he would term ‘inappropriate’.
They had both agreed to keep their relationship hidden from the people at work. She guessed it wouldn’t do his credibility much good and it certainly wouldn’t help hers.
‘Did you hear what I said?’ he asked with a slight edge to his voice. Tyler wasn’t used to being ignored.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured, shaking herself awake.
‘I said Kay has handed in her notice. You could do that job.’
Kit’s interest was piqued. ‘What job?’
‘In the accounts office.’
More number crunching, Kit thought. ‘No thanks, I’ll stay where I am.’
‘I really think you should consider it,’ he pressed.
She laughed. ‘What are you, my career counsellor? I prefer to work with real people, Tyler. Not cardboard cutouts. Present company excepted, of course,’ she added as an afterthought.
She saw the defensive expression that crossed his face. ‘Is that what you think of us?’ he asked a little sharply.
‘Well, you are. On the few occasions I’ve been upstairs I’ve noticed how false everyone is. It’s so transparent. The half smiles, the forced laughs. No, as I said, I like living in the real world.’
‘I really think you should give it a little more thought.’
The Forgotten Woman: A gripping, emotional rollercoaster read you’ll devour in one sitting Page 23