by Linda Green
‘Now, Jess, I think you’d better calm down. You’re getting yourself in a state again.’
‘No, I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s your son who’s got the problem.’
She frowns at me. ‘What’s our Lee got to do with this?’
‘He hit me, Angela. Last night he hit me hard across the face, outside in the hallway.’
I see her shudder. Her body appears to contract. ‘No. You’re lying.’
‘I wish I was, believe me. It’s your son who’s lying. But maybe you know that already.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Her voice is higher. She is avoiding eye contact with me.
‘Oh, I think you do. He didn’t dump Emma after their holiday in Italy, did he? He flew back on his own because she was in hospital there, recovering from the broken jaw he’d given her.’
‘No.’ She shakes her head vehemently. She does not want to admit it, even to herself.
‘And there were probably others before. Dozens, for all I know. And every time you just pretended that it wasn’t happening and put the baby clothes back in the bottom drawer, ready for next time. And finally he found a girl stupid enough to trust him. To fall in love with him so hard that she was blind to what he was doing to her, how he was controlling her, moulding her into what he wanted her to be.’
‘Jess, I think you’d better go and lie down. I don’t think you’re well. I don’t think you’ve been well for some time now.’
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I say, my voice strong and clear. ‘I’ve never seen things more clearly, believe me.’
‘You’re making this up. It’s all inside your head. It’s another one of your episodes.’
‘Like the fact that your husband hit you?’ I say, raising my voice. ‘I’m making that up, am I? That he used to hit you and scream at you to go and clean your fucking face up.’
She crumples before me. I see her put one hand on the basin.
‘Your husband did it to you, Angela, and Lee is doing it to me. It’s time to stop all the deceit.’
She looks up at me. ‘He told you that? He remembers?’
I nod. ‘He’s the one who needs help, Angela. Him, and maybe you.’
‘You mustn’t go,’ she pleads. ‘It will destroy him.’
‘And if I stay, he’ll destroy me.’
‘He won’t. I promise. I’ll see to it that he gets help.’
I shake my head. ‘No, that’s not what happens. He carries on, see. It gets worse. He punches my tooth out after H is born. And he ends up killing me, here, in this bathroom.’
Angela shakes her head. Her whole body is shaking. ‘No. You’re talking nonsense now. How can you know that’s what happens?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I just do. Lee is charged with my manslaughter. Only he gets off because you lie for him. You say you came here and took H after Lee went to work, but you didn’t. You cover up for him killing me because you cannot bear to lose your precious grandson.’
I raise my leg, ready to step out of the bath. As I do so she lunges at me, screaming hysterically, ‘You are not going, you are not going to take my grandson away!’ She grabs hold of my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh, pulling me, yanking me down. I scream, lose my footing and start to fall. I see the basin rushing towards me. It is going to happen now, here, before H is even born. I am going to die and lose my baby. I try to twist, desperate to protect my baby. I feel myself falling. I look up at the ceiling; I can hear Angela screaming. Or maybe it is me screaming, it is hard to tell. And then there is a thud as I hit the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom floor.
Jess
June 2009
Sadie knocks on my bedroom door and comes in. It’s weird, seeing her in her school uniform. I can’t remember the last time I wore mine. I haven’t been to school for a long time and I can’t imagine going back there.
‘How did it go?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, OK, I think, but you never really know with English, do you? I might have written a whole pile of crap.’
‘Nah. You’ll have done really well.’
Sadie smiles and sits down on my bed. She didn’t come to visit when I was in hospital. Dad said the psychiatric unit wasn’t a nice place for a girl her age to visit. He seemed to forget that it wasn’t a nice place for a girl my age to be in either.
‘How’re you doing?’ she says.
‘Oh. You know.’
‘Are you still off the medication?’
‘Yeah. They say I don’t need it anymore. They’re going to see how it goes.’
She nods. She knows that I lied about taking it in hospital. They all found out in the end. Some smart-arsed nurse thought she’d get the better of me. I still didn’t take their tablets for long, though. Just long enough for them to be convinced they had worked.
‘So, what now then?’
‘I dunno. It’s too late to go back to school now. Dad says I can do retakes next year when I’m better. Not there, though. Maybe at college. I want to make a fresh start. I don’t want everyone knowing.’
She nods. ‘You could go to Calderdale? Just tell the other students you flunked your exams. No one will know any different.’
She’s right. But I’m also aware that any friends I make there, or at any point afterwards, will be different to the ones I had before. There will be those who know me and those who only know the bits I want them to know.
My gaze rests on the photo of Mum and me on the bedside table. The one where we have our arms around each other and are laughing. I can’t even remember what we were laughing about now. I wish I could.
‘She’d be proud of you, Jess,’ Sadie says.
‘What, of me going gaga and freaking you all out?’
‘No. Of you getting through stuff so horrible that the rest of us can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like.’
I shrug. ‘I might not be through it yet.’
‘You’ve got through the shittiest year possible. There’s nothing life can throw at you now that could bring you down. You’re stronger than all of us, Jess. You just don’t realise it yet.’
I lean across and give her a hug, like the ones we used to share before all this happened. Except it’s not like those ones at all. It is so much more than that.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘For being there, I mean. For not giving up on me.’
‘It’s what friends do,’ she says.
‘No, it’s what you did.’
She smiles at me, wipes at the corner of her eyes with her long fingers. ‘Do you want to come into town on Saturday?’ she asks.
I hesitate before answering. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere apart from home and hospital.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Yeah, that would be good.’
Dad will be happy, I know that. He’ll think it means I’m better. Back to normal. I have no idea what normal is anymore. When people ask if I am better, I don’t know what I’ll say. Better than what? Better than I was a few months ago, yes. Better than I was before Mum died, no way. I don’t think of myself as better. The doctor said that there is no such thing as sane and insane. That mental health is a continuum, a line on which we all move up and down at different points in our lives. And most of the time we manage to keep out of trouble. Only sometimes we hit the buffers at one end. And just because we might eventually get off them, it doesn’t mean to say we are always going to be OK. But it doesn’t mean to say we are always going to be crazy either. Simply that we are back on that line, jostling for position with everyone else who claims to be normal.
Angela
Tuesday, 21 March 2017
She lies there in a heap on the floor. For a moment I dare not touch her in case she is dead. Because if she is, I will have killed her – and my grandson too. Fear surges through me. How will I ever explain this to Lee? I sta
rt shaking uncontrollably. She makes a sound. Only a faint one, but I know that she is still alive.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I say, kneeling down on the bathroom floor next to her. The towel has fallen open. Her huge bump is sticking out of it. She turned somehow as she fell, twisted onto her back. I did nothing. I was rooted to the spot. Paralysed by fear – not that I was about to witness her death, but that I was about to lose my grandchild.
I look for blood but I can’t see any. I rack my brain to try and remember what you are supposed to do in a situation like this. I think I should try to turn her on her side, but I’m not sure I can actually move her. And I’m scared that it might not be the right thing to do, that I might make it worse. She moves her head a little. A second later her body contorts as she lets out a high-pitched cry. She opens her eyes, the first time I know she is properly conscious. ‘H,’ she breathes. ‘He’s coming.’
I get up and run into the hallway, where I left my bag when I saw her case. I get my phone out and dial 999. I have never done this before. My hand is shaking as they answer.
‘Ambulance,’ I say, when they ask which service I need. As I wait to be put through there is another cry from the bathroom.
‘It’s my daughter-in-law,’ I say, as soon as I am put through. ‘She’s eight months pregnant and she’s had a bad fall. She says the baby is coming.’
I give them the address and rush back into the bathroom as she screams again.
‘It’s OK,’ I tell her. ‘The ambulance is on its way.’
‘Dad,’ she says. ‘Call Dad! Tell him to come to the hospital.’
‘What about Lee?’
She shakes her head. ‘Dad.’
I go back out into the hallway and do as I am told. Joe sounds surprised when he answers the phone.
‘Hello, Angela. Everything OK?’
‘It’s Jess,’ I say. ‘She’s gone into labour.’
‘But she’s not due till next month.’
‘She had a fall,’ I say. ‘She slipped in the bathroom. The ambulance is on its way. They’ll take her to Jimmy’s, you know, St James’s Hospital. She wants you to meet her there.’
‘Is she OK?’ Joe asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘We’re waiting for the paramedics to arrive. Just go straight to Jimmy’s, to the maternity unit.’
He hangs up. I can picture his face now, can imagine him running out to the car. She is his daughter. She is all he’s got left, her and the baby. I know how that feels.
I go back into the bathroom, take the dressing gown from behind the door and put it over her.
‘He’s on his way to the hospital,’ I say.
She nods before her face contorts again as she screams. I take hold of her hand but she pulls it away.
‘Try to breathe,’ I say. ‘Try to slow things down.’ She screws her face up. I wonder whether I should try to lift her, but decide it’s better to leave it to the paramedics. I’m still not sure if she’s injured. I do not want to make things any worse. I have made them bad enough already.
I hear the buzzer going. I run out to the hallway and pick it up. I tell them to use the lift and press the button to let them in. I wait for them to reach our floor.
‘Here,’ I call out. ‘She’s in here.’
They run in; one of them has a wheelchair, which he leaves in the hallway. I hold the bathroom door open for them; Jess lets out another scream as they go in.
‘It’s OK, love,’ the older one says as he bends to examine her. ‘We’re going to get you to hospital in a jiffy. I just need to make sure there’s nothing broken and no serious damage done.’
He lifts her side slightly and puts his hand beneath her, feeling along her spine, pressing around her lower back. He asks her to move her toes and she does it.
‘Was she unconscious at any point?’ he asks, turning to me.
‘No. No, I don’t think so.’
He shines a light in her eyes, gets her to follow his finger. Feels around her neck and collarbone. Then he takes a stethoscope out.
‘This might be a bit cold,’ he says.
He puts it onto her bump and moves it around slightly before stopping and listening.
‘Is he all right?’ she whimpers.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘He’s fine. We’re going to get you up and put you in the wheelchair and get you to hospital, OK?’
She nods and clutches at her bump as she moans again. The paramedics move to either side of her and lift her up. The towel falls off. I dash in and put her dressing gown around her, trying to protect her modesty. They put their arms under her shoulders and shuffle her out into the hall sideways. I bring the wheelchair over and watch as they lower her gently into it.
‘Right, are you coming with her?’ the older paramedic asks. Before I can say anything, I see Jess shake her head.
‘No,’ I say quietly. ‘Her father’s going to meet her there. She’ll need her overnight case. It’s there,’ I say, pointing.
The other paramedic takes hold of it. ‘Oh, and this,’ I say, running into the nursery and returning with the car seat.
‘Do you want me to give you a hand?’ I ask.
‘No, thanks,’ he says, taking it from me. ‘I can manage.’
Jess screams again.
‘Right,’ says the older one. ‘Let’s get you to hospital.’ I watch them wheel her out of the apartment and into the lift before I shut the door, turn around and walk straight into the nursery. It is only there that I start crying, slumping down on the floor and clutching the teddy that I bought for my grandson. The grandson I have no idea if I will ever see.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
Angela Griffiths
21 September 2017
I always knew Lee didn’t do it, Jess. They didn’t have any evidence to pin on him because he didn’t do it. It’s as simple as that. I also knew it might look like he did do it, though. Which is why I acted the way I did. I am not proud of what I did, Jess. I simply panicked when I arrived and saw your case in the hall. Because I packed a case once, Jess. I left it standing in the hall, too. The only difference was that I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it because of the little boy who spotted it there. Who started asking questions. Painful questions, which I didn’t have answers for. And so the case was unpacked by the time his father came home from work, and that little boy was told not to say any more about it. I stayed; for weeks, for months, for years, afterwards. Taking everything that was thrown my way because I could not bear to leave my little boy and I knew that I could not take him with me. Could not afford to look after him on my own. In the end, it was his father’s case that ended up packed in the hallway, when he left me for another woman, a woman who may have been younger than me but who is probably old now. As old and damaged and broken as I am.
So that is why I went to pieces. That is why I ran into the bathroom to beg you to stay. And when I saw you lying there motionless on the tiles, blood oozing from the wounds on your head, I knew that you were either dead, or dying. In that split second, I had to make a decision as to whether to stay and help you or pick up Harrison and leave. Pretend I had arrived before the accident and taken my grandson for the morning as usual, allowing you to have a shower in peace.
So I chose Harrison. All I could think about was that little boy, screaming his heart out. And I knew I had to get him out of there. That if I stayed for another second, even to dial 999, it was more likely that the police would think it wasn’t an accident at all, that Lee had done that to you. And then Harrison would have lost his father, as well as his mother. And no child deserves that.
So yes, I took him, and I shut the door behind me, leaving you there to die. Because I could not bear to do that to my grandson. And while I may have sacrificed your life in the process, I tell myself that that is what you would have wanted. Because you, of all people, know that
a mother will do anything to save her little boy.
And, of course, the police believed me when I said I arrived at the apartment after Lee left for work. Nobody thought to question that. I mean, what kind of woman would leave her daughter-in-law dying on the bathroom floor? They believed me in court, too. Even after those women had come forward and said all those nasty things about Lee.
What’s done is done and I will have to live with it for the rest of my life. No one will ever know the truth now, because I am not going to tell anyone. Lee may know, of course. But only if he did kill you, and I still don’t believe he did. And I can’t ask him, even if I wanted to, because if I do, he will know that I found you, know that I left you dying on the floor. We have never spoken of it. I don’t suppose we ever will. There is a special bond between a mother and her son. And some things are best left unsaid.
Jess
Tuesday, 21 March 2017
I am so convinced that I am going to give birth in the ambulance that I am surprised when we pull up and they begin wheeling me out backwards.
‘Are we here?’ I ask the older paramedic. The one who told me his name was Terry.
‘Yep, we’ll get you straight inside now. There are people waiting to take over.’
‘Is he going to be OK?’
‘He’ll be fine,’ he says, smiling at me. ‘He’s got a tough cookie for a mum, hasn’t he?’
I nod and moan simultaneously as the contractions come again. Terry pushes me into the maternity unit reception. A doctor and a midwife are waiting for me with a trolley. I hear Terry talking to them very quickly as I am lifted onto it. I can only hear snatches of what he says, the timing of my contractions, the fact that I will need a thorough check after the birth. The other paramedic hands over my case and the car seat. And then we are off, straight into the lift. The midwife takes my hand and tells me her name is Gloria. I try not to think about the hippo in Madagascar.
‘Is Dad on his way?’ she asks.
I am about to say yes when I realise she means my baby’s dad.