‘Hope so. Relax, Esther – you’re making me nervous.’
We get through the toll. We pass the airport. The road starts to clog up with cars and lorries on both sides of us. Ruth’s hands tighten on the steering wheel and she goes quiet. My insides fizz with fear at the thought of actually meeting Helena – I want to be there, talking to her, but another part of me wants the journey to last for ever.
Cars hurtle round us; the open road becomes a suburban street, with beautiful tall old houses and different street signs from home. Now we’re driving down a long tree-lined road. It’s a bit like the roads round school, but the buildings are on a different scale – gracious Georgian terraces with steps up to painted front doors, street names from history books – I know if I were here for a different reason I could love this city. Luke would too. I remember all the pictures of old houses in his sketchbook. I wonder if he’ll ever see these streets. Or any streets again.
‘You have reached your destination,’ intones the sat nav. We turn into what looks at first like a big park and then a school, a mishmash of old and new, brick and stone and glass. Then in front of us looms the building from the postcard. Ruth pulls into a parking space, turns to me and breathes out through her fringe.
‘We’re here,’ she says and grins. She high fives me. ‘I can’t believe I just did that.’
‘You’re brilliant.’
She waves this away. ‘Come on. There’s the reception. Just pray they let us in.’
There’s a buzzer to the right of the glass doors, and they slide open when I press it.
‘Now where?’ I look round the wood-panelled hall. There’s an office with a frosted glass door but nobody comes out and I’m scared to knock in case someone sends us away. Not that I would go, when we’ve come this far, but –
‘There,’ Ruth says, pointing. There’s a board with a list of names, and two from the bottom is DR HELENA SCOTT ROOM 119.
‘How will we find it?’
‘We’ll look.’
We go down endless identical corridors that look a bit like the nicer parts of school, and count off the numbers on the office doors, until finally we’re standing outside 119.
I look at Ruth in sudden panic. ‘What if she isn’t here? She’s probably in a lecture or – or a meeting or something.’
‘Someone’s here.’ She presses her ear to the door. ‘I can hear computer keys tapping.’ She lifts her hand and knocks firmly.
My first thought, when Dr Helena Scott calls Come in, and I follow Ruth into the book-lined, tidy office is, you can’t imagine her as any kind of mother or carer. She’s tall and thin with a perfect sharp bob and an unwrinkled linen suit. She turns round from her computer and asks, ‘Are you Sarah? About the essay extension?’
‘I’m Esther Wilson.’
Her high-cheekboned face reddens. The air in the office crackles with unease. I try to look confident.
‘All right,’ Helena says at last. ‘I suppose you should sit down.’ She gestures at two plastic chairs, saves her document and then turns to us. She glances at the watch on her thin wrist. ‘I have to see a student in a few minutes,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so – my email – it was just – thinking about Luke again after all this time. You gave me a bit of a shock. I can’t believe you just came and found me.’ I can’t work out if she’s annoyed or impressed. ‘I don’t know how you think I can help,’ she says. ‘Luke made it clear – well, keeping in touch wasn’t an option.’
She looks defeated and much older than when we first walked in. Like Dad at the end of a bad week at school.
‘What has he said about me that makes you think …?’
I don’t answer for a moment. I wonder if what I’m going to say will hurt her as much as it should.
‘He’s actually never mentioned you. But I know he lived with you for years. Sandra’s known him for a few weeks. Brendan’s gone to a conference and there’s nobody else. Believe me, I wouldn’t have left Luke and come all the way down here if I’d had any choice.’ I thrust my phone at Helena. ‘Look,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what Luke looked like the last time you saw him, but that’s him today. That’s what he looks like after trying to kill himself. And that’s why I’m here.’
She winces. She looks at the phone for a long time. A little vein pulses in her cheek. She hands me back the phone.
‘What did he do?’
‘He took an overdose of his epilepsy medication.’
Beside me, Ruth is very quiet but I can feel her attention focused one hundred per cent.
Helena shakes her head. ‘That doesn’t sound like …’
My heart skips.
Then she sighs. ‘But honestly. How would I know? He changed so much when his mother died. It was like – having a stranger in the house. He was always so … self-controlled. And then – he wasn’t.’ She rubs her hand over her face. ‘Oh God,’ she says. ‘It’s my fault. Why should he have been any different? I expected too much.’
‘Can you tell us what you mean?’ Ruth asks gently.
Helena sighs. ‘I didn’t set out to be a foster carer,’ she says. ‘I always expected I’d have my own kids and then – well, it doesn’t matter, but it didn’t happen. I decided to try fostering. I knew I could offer a lot to a child. A good home, opportunities, books – I was doing my PhD, working from home. There was a lot in the media about children in care being left behind by the system, falling through the cracks, not achieving at school – I thought, I could give a child more than that. So I did all the courses and everything and they gave me a little girl. Shelby.’ The way she says the name shows exactly what she thinks of it. ‘She was hard work. Very needy. Always wanting to cling round me, climb on my knee –’
‘Look, I’m not interested in Shelby. I need to know about Luke.’
‘It’s relevant, though. Things didn’t work out with Shelby – I wasn’t the right kind of person. And when she left I thought I wouldn’t try again. But I didn’t like feeling I’d failed. Anyway, they told me they had a boy who was – I can still remember the words they used – bright and self-contained – the opposite of Shelby. He was so easy. Worked hard at school, loved books, loved sport – wanted to do well. I was ambitious for him. I kept reminding him he could be anything, do anything; being in care wasn’t going to hold him back. We were – a good team. But …’ She frowns and I can’t look at Ruth because I’m sure my face must be giving away my excitement that she’s on the brink of telling me something helpful at last.
‘But …’ I prompt her.
‘There was always trouble when he had contact time with his mother – it was always sulk sulk sulk the whole way there. I think he blamed her for a lot. She’d asked for him to be taken into care because she couldn’t cope with his behaviour – which I never really understood. He was as good as gold for me. I don’t know why Social Services insisted on the contact. It obviously wasn’t a positive experience for either of them. And then when she was killed …’ She shakes her head. ‘It was terrible. The husband was killed outright but she wasn’t – she was on a life support machine but it was hopeless. Brendan thought I should take him to the hospital, say goodbye before they turned the machine off. I mean – she was gone already, really, but – you know’ – she makes air-quotes – ‘closure. He wouldn’t go. He said he had nothing to say to her, and what was the point when she was unconscious anyway.’
I shiver at this, at the memory of the unconscious boy I have been trying to talk to for the last three days, and Ruth leans over and squeezes my hand.
‘He was very cold about it. He just went to his room and read. It was New Year’s Day. But I did insist on him going to the funeral.’
She picks up a paper clip from her desk and starts unbending it. ‘I told him this was his last chance to say goodbye and that he might regret it if he didn’t take it. We got as far as the car park and it was packed. I hadn’t expected a big funeral. His mum didn’t have much in the way of family, but of course it was a joi
nt one, with the husband. Anyway, suddenly Luke just lost it. He said he wasn’t going in. I put my hand on his arm to try to calm him down, and he lashed out at me. Screaming, shouting, cursing – I’d never seen him like that the whole time he’d been with me.’ She sets the unbent paper clip back on the desk. ‘He hit me. I don’t know if he knew he was doing it but …’
I shudder inside.
‘He jumped out of the car – made a run for it. Didn’t come home until the early hours. Very much the worse for wear. It was the first time there’d been anything like that.’
‘Anything like what?’ Ruth asks.
I’m carefully not meeting her eye at Helena’s mention of Luke hitting her.
Helena runs a hand through her shining hair. ‘Luke was always quiet, didn’t mix much with the boys at his school – of course it wasn’t the school I’d have chosen – but suddenly he was going out a lot, drinking heavily, and then once he was brought home by the police, given a caution – and it wasn’t just drink that time. It was some kind of pills. He seemed to change personality overnight. He wasn’t the boy I’d brought up.’
‘His mum had just died,’ I say.
‘Of course I took that into account.’ She sweeps her hands up the side of her face as if to hold it together. ‘But – well, the epilepsy started the day after the police brought him home stoned.’
‘You think there was some connection?’
Helena shrugs. ‘Nobody knows. Epilepsy can start for all sorts of –’
‘And for no reason at all.’ I don’t need a lecture on epilepsy. I’ve read every website going.
Her tone becomes harder. ‘Look, it was a nightmare. Trying to get him stabilised. Trying all the different drugs. The mood swings … and the seizures. It scared me.’ She sounds ashamed. ‘There came a point where relations had just broken down too badly. He needed something – someone – not me any more. I’d been offered this job. I thought – a new start –’
‘That’s not very loyal,’ Ruth says, and I squeeze her hand because I wanted to say that but if I open my mouth right now I’ll scream.
Helena nods. ‘Don’t think I didn’t feel bad about it. But if it’s loyalty you’re talking about – he wasn’t above taking money from my purse to go out and buy drink and drugs. I don’t think Luke has any loyalty except to himself. Children in care can be very selfish. It’s a survival instinct, I suppose.’
‘Well, Luke’s survival instinct has clearly let him down,’ I say.
‘Yes.’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry. I really thought he’d be much better off with Sandra and Bill. They seemed very caring.’
‘They are.’
‘I wanted to stay in touch. See how he was getting on. I was so proud of him – despite everything, he did so well in his exams, and getting into Mansfield – it was what we’d always dreamed of for him. But he’s never once been in touch. I tried but he – he just cut himself off.’
Yes, I think. He’s good at that.
There’s a knock at the door and Helena doesn’t even try to hide her relief. ‘My student.’ She stands up.
Ruth and I stand too, since there’s no help for it.
‘Ah – Sarah. Come in.’ She manages to usher the nervous-looking girl inside and hustle us out at the same time.
‘I hope he’s OK,’ Helena says. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t help you much. Anyway. Better …’ She nods at us and goes back into her nice safe office.
Ruth leans against the corridor wall and lets out a long breath. ‘Why didn’t you tell her about Jasmine? I thought that was the whole point – to find out if she thought he was – well, if he could be violent.’ Then she answers her own question. ‘But you didn’t need to ask, did you?’
‘She didn’t say violent.’
‘Esther. He hit her.’
‘It was a funeral.’
I take a last look at the very solid door of Helena’s office and notice her full title. Dr Helena Scott. Economics.
I feel suddenly exhausted. ‘Come on, Ruthie.’ I slip my hand through her arm. ‘Let’s go home.’
Luke
Eyelids aren’t as heavy now. If I really made the effort I could push off whatever is weighing them down.
I force myself as hard as I can but someone has glued them shut, or maybe stitched them. If I force it too much I’ll only break the stitches.
Why’d you want to go back there anyway? You don’t think it’s going to be any different, do you?
Unless you’re brave enough to wake up and take your punishment.
Esther
I can hardly make out what Sandra is saying – He’s awake. As far as they can tell there’s no permanent damage.
I throw the phone on my bed, pull on any old clothes, and only Mum’s nagging forces me to stop long enough to choke down a piece of toast which then sits uneasily somewhere in my oesophagus as if it knows there is no room for it in the huge bubble of happiness inside me.
So it’s an anticlimax to find Luke lying just as I left him yesterday before the trip to Dublin, the bruises yellowing now, his eyes shut. I stand inside the door, tears fighting up my throat.
The skinny nurse appears. ‘Ah, you just missed him. He was awake for about half an hour.’
‘I thought –’
‘He’s been out for the count for three days. You didn’t expect him to be dancing round the ward, did you?’
I thought he’d be looking forward to seeing me. I thought he’d make sure he stayed awake until I arrived. I can’t say any of this without sounding like a child. It feels wrong now, to pull up the chair and sit beside him, even though I’ve done it for days. Then I realise that his breathing is totally different from the way it’s been – slow and steady, like normal sleep, and I remember, not the last three days, but the time in my bedroom when we fell asleep together, and I feel ashamed and go over to him and take his hand.
‘Hey, Luke.’ My voice is a bit teary, and I cough to clear it. I can’t think of anything to say now that he is quite likely actually to wake up and hear it, so I just squeeze his hand. It feels warmer than before and it squeezes mine back, very briefly.
His eyelids flicker. My breath catches.
‘Luke,’ I whisper. ‘Wake up.’ I stroke his stubbled cheek with my free hand, as if I can stroke open his eyes, but they open themselves. He runs his tongue over his cracked, pale lips. His voice is rusty.
‘Esther.’ That’s all he says and his eyelids flicker again, then he seems to make a huge effort to open them, and fixes his eyes on me. I stroke the greasy hair back from his forehead. His eyes look darker than usual.
‘What day is it?’ he asks. He looks round the room, moving his head gingerly and focusing through narrowed eyes.
‘Saturday. You’ve been unconscious for three days. Um … how do you feel?’
He swallows. ‘Like – a bad hangover.’
‘Yuck.’
He closes his eyes. ‘Yeah.’
‘Just rest,’ I say. I try not to let the disappointment creep into my voice – I mean, what did I expect? He took enough pills to kill him. And everything hasn’t been magically fixed.
I can’t believe how you guys never talk about anything.
‘Luke? Do you remember what happened – why you’re in here?’
He opens his eyes wide and stares at me. ‘Oh, yes,’ he says, and turns his head away. When his voice comes again it’s much stronger, though he won’t look at me. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here, but would you mind going away? I don’t want to see you again.’
Luke
They ask me questions to find out if I’m mental now. Apparently not.
‘Some degree of memory loss is normal after a head injury,’ says the doctor, and Sandra and Bill hang on his every word because they’re the kind of people to be impressed by doctors. Helena always demanded a second opinion. He goes on about having to change my medication and how I can expect headaches and tiredness for a while.
They talk about m
e as if I’m subnormal. Sandra keeps trying to take my hand.
The doctor wiggles his hands in the pocket of his jacket. ‘So. Physically you are ready to go home; you probably just feel like you’re sleeping off a heavy night?’ He gives me a laddish grin that I don’t return. ‘But mentally –’
‘I thought you just found out I wasn’t mental? I thought that was what all those questions were for?’
And home? Who’d blame Sandra and Bill if they said, Sorry, this isn’t what we signed up for? I don’t make eye contact with anyone. If they’ve changed their minds they won’t tell me directly. It’ll come through Brendan. I know how the system works.
‘Look, Luke.’ The doctor grimaces, maybe because that sounds weird. ‘The reason you are in here is that you took a huge overdose. Which caused a massive seizure. You’re lucky you’re still with us. We need to deal with what made you feel like that.’
‘Hmm,’ I say, since I’m obviously expected to say something.
‘Well – what will happen is you’ll be assessed by a psychiatrist and they’ll recommend what happens now.’ He sounds businesslike, saying psychiatrist as naturally as you’d say dentist. ‘For now, just try to – well, rest.’ The laddish grin is gone.
Rest. As if you can do that when every time you close your eyes you get the same litany. All this time I’ve been out of it, he’s been gathering strength.
Didn’t even manage to do away with yourself properly, Lukey boy.
No, and I haven’t managed to do away with him either.
You don’t deserve to live.
I know.
Esther
Dad finds me crying on a bench outside the hospital.
‘Oh, love.’ He wraps me up in a hug. I can’t remember the last time Dad hugged me or called me love.
I hang on to him and sob and sob. He feels so different from Mum. Solid and male. That makes me cry harder. I snivel and wail. ‘He doesn’t want me. He told me to go away.’
‘Esther.’ His voice is firm and he holds me away from him and gives my shoulders a shake. ‘Look at me. You didn’t honestly think that everything would be fine now?’
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