‘Me too,’ he confessed.
‘I’m hollowed out, Lockie, a shell. I’ve got nothing left. I’m exhausted, confused, upset, but as long as she needs me I will keep on going. I won’t give up on her, ever. I tried to explain that to Marcia, how hard it is!’
‘I know and I don’t want us to give up on her either, but I do think she needs to be somewhere, restrained if necessary, sedated even, anything to get food into her system!’ He raised his voice.
‘This is not a physical illness where you can give her a pill or stick a part of her in a plaster cast and, hey presto, she’ll be fixed. It’s so much more than that!’
‘You think I don’t know this? But you’ve just said yourself, it’s all about getting her weight up,’ he retorted. ‘I feel like we have the same bloody conversation over and over. This isn’t about you! It’s about what’s best for Lexi, and I shouldn’t have to remind you of that, not now,’ he railed.
‘I don’t need reminding! I know it’s not about me and I resent you suggesting otherwise! But I do know that to get her healthy is going to take more than forcefully shoving a tube down her neck – we tried that, remember! We have made good progress in the past and we can again.’
‘This is a mental illness! Our daughter is mentally ill.’ Lockie matched her stare. Even to hear him use the words and to see the expression on his face was enough to make her tears pool.
‘Anorexia is not going to kill her,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t let it.’
Lockie put his hands in his pockets. ‘You’re right, Freya, no one dies of anorexia. They die of starvation, of organ failure and other horrible ailments brought on by starvation. And that’s why we need help.’
An unwanted image of Lexi, struggling for breath, along with the words that had heralded her decline, filled her head: My heart feels funny . . .
Freya crept into Lexi’s room, lest she should be sleeping. She was awake, but slumped on her pillows.
‘Hey, I brought you a shake.’ She rattled the carton in her daughter’s direction.
Lexi spoke faintly. ‘Shaking it doesn’t make it any more appealing.’ She gave a lopsided smile.
Freya placed the carton on the bedside table, in the hope that she might manage a few sips. She noticed that her skin had taken on a worrying greyish hue.
‘I don’t feel too good, Mum. I can’t go out.’ Lexi’s speech was laboured. She appeared further weakened.
Freya managed to stop the scream that hovered in her throat as she went off to consult with Lockie. She found him sitting at the breakfast bar.
‘I don’t think we should haul her out of the house and down to the surgery. She doesn’t look well enough.’ She bit her thumbnail.
‘Is this just another way to keep her at home?’
His words offended and angered her in equal measure.
‘Is that what you think? Go and look at her! Her skin is grey! I don’t think it’s a good idea to drag her out of the house.’ She cursed the warble to her tone and the glint of tears that she couldn’t contain.
‘Okay.’ He touched his fingers into a pyramid and held them against his chin, as if deep in thought. ‘I’m sorry. Call them. The doctor will come here, I’m sure, if you explain.’
Freya nodded and made the call.
It was late afternoon, after her surgery finished, when Dr Morris made a house visit.
Lexi sat up in the bed with her shoulders hunched and her translucent skin stretched thin over her suddenly aged bones. Freya caught Dr Morris’s expression: it was one of horror.
The doctor had not once in their year of dealing with her let her professional mask slip. Freya had never found her to be anything other than calm, professional and positive, and it made a huge difference to them.
She remembered Mrs Janosik’s words: Some are brilliant, sympathetic and aware, others not so much – it’s pretty much the luck of the draw. They had certainly struck lucky.
But today, the doctor’s first flash of uncontrolled emotion made Freya’s stomach bunch and her bowels turn to ice.
‘Good to see you, Lexi,’ she offered brightly. ‘Mum says you have a tummy ache?’
Lexi nodded, running her hand over her abdomen. ‘It was worse earlier, but not so bad now . . . It’s like a stabbing pain.’
‘Okay. Well, you know what I’m going to say: we need to get you checked out in the hospital. It could be nothing, just a bug, but it could be something more significant, something nasty, and we need to get it seen.’
Lexi shook her head. ‘I think it’s just a bug. I can’t go to the hospital,’ she whispered.
‘Well, I’m going to give you a quick check-over and then we can decide what to do for the best.’ She smiled at them all and grabbed her stethoscope. Freya decided not to comment on the scale that poked from the doctor’s bag.
With Lexi settled, Freya and Lockie walked Dr Morris to the floor below, where they stood in the kitchen.
‘I wanted to talk to you both in private,’ she began.
‘Yes.’ Freya nodded, willing her to get to the point. Her heart rate increased and her palms were peppered with sweat.
‘Lexi is in very bad shape.’
‘I know,’ she whispered, closing her eyes, as if this might make the conversation easier to have. She felt Lockie take her hand, then coiled her fingers around his.
The doctor sighed. ‘Her stomach pains are because of poor circulation. I suspect her arteries are closing from pressure inside her body, as there’s no fat to cushion them. It’s complicated, but more common than you might think in starvation.’
Freya stared at her; each word she spoke was like a punch to the gut. She glanced at Lockie. He looked like he might collapse.
‘We need to get her into hospital as soon as possible,’ Dr Morris continued, ‘and then we need to consider our options. I can push for Larchcombe, but my fear is that we would find ourselves back here in a few months, if she hung on that long.’
Freya felt her blood turn to ice. Don’t say that! Please don’t say that! She will hang on! She has to! We just need more time!
The doctor took a deep breath. ‘We do have the option of having her sectioned and sent to a psychiatric facility, Morningside, but it has a far tougher regimen than Larchcombe . . .’
Sweet Jesus, help me! Freya closed her eyes.
‘Yes, we know it.’ Lockie’s voice was reedy.
‘Or we could stick to the Larchcombe option; but personally, I think that feels risky, given her previous failure with the programme.’
‘How bad is she?’ Freya whispered, knowing the likely response but needing to hear it.
‘She’s giving a weight of a little under sixty-two pounds. That’s the weight of an average nine-year-old child.’
‘Oh my God!’ Freya cried. This was her lowest weight yet. ‘Lexi!’
Lockie made a sound as if winded. She looked at his stricken face and could see that the air, along with any flicker of optimism, had left his body.
‘And that, in my view’ – the doctor’s voice slowed and her tone dipped – ‘is something that is very hard to come back from. Some consider it the point of no return.’
It felt to Freya as if there were an echo to her words that reverberated, ricocheting around her head, trying to find a spot to settle on that might make comprehension possible.
‘Are you saying that she is dying?’ Lockie was breathing very quickly, as if the doctor’s words were only just permeating.
Dr Morris looked at the floor. There was a pause that told them all they needed to know; the gap could have easily been filled with denials and words of reassurance.
‘I think,’ the doctor began, regaining her composure, ‘that is a possibility that you need to prepare yourself for.’
Freya bent her head suddenly and lunged forward, racing towards the counter, until her mouth was over the sink – just. She vomited; her stomach lurched again, as Lockie walked over and palmed circles on her back. Eventually she straightened, wiping her mouth o
n her arm.
‘Are you okay?’ Dr Morris sounded concerned.
Freya felt another surge of nausea and for a second thought she might suffocate; she placed her hand on her chest and concentrated on trying to take a breath. A picture loomed in her mind of her holding her newborn: her damp, pink face, her shock of hair, her tiny, grasping fingers, grabbing at the air. My baby girl . . .
She recalled the hopes and dreams she held for that child: a wonderful, wonderful life, a full life – a long life! Turning to Lockie, she searched his face for the answers. As she studied the tears that slid down his cheeks, she felt the sledgehammer of realisation, shattering her conviction that she knew best. She could die. Lexi might die. The point of no return . . .
‘We need to save her! We . . . we need to do everything we can. We’re her parents, it’s our job!’ She sobbed, her face contorted with tears. For the first time, she realised that there was no room for soft sentiment. It was time to take the hard line.
‘Okay.’ Dr Morris nodded.
‘Yes, do it! Call the hospital, call them now! Tell them it’s urgent; tell them that she’s only fifteen and that she will be very, very scared. She’s like china! She’s . . . she’s very fragile.’ Getting her words out was a struggle.
Lockie placed his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Freya welcomed his touch, grateful that he was there to lean on. She turned her head towards him. He nodded through his tears, his expression one of pure relief.
Dr Morris sighed, interrupting the moment. ‘I know this is hard. But I believe that you are giving Lexi the best chance of survival.’ She pulled out her mobile phone and punched some digits, talking to the couple while she waited for a response. ‘We’ll get her admitted and we can take things from there.’ She spoke softly. She held up her finger, indicating that the call had been answered.
‘Yes, hello, it’s Dr Rosemary Morris. I need an ambulance.’
Freya thanked the doctor as Lockie opened the front door.
‘They will fix her, won’t they?’ she whispered.
Dr Morris paused. ‘They will do their best, but I should also tell you, Mrs Braithwaite, that there are no guarantees. Lexi is very poorly.’
Freya placed her palm over the back of her husband’s hand as they closed the door and stood facing each other. She stared at Lockie, hoping that she might wake up now from this horrible nightmare.
‘Lockie!’ She fell against him.
‘I’ve got you!’ he cried into her hair.
‘Lockie! Help me! Help me!’
‘I’ve got you,’ he repeated, holding her tight.
‘I can’t . . . I can’t fix her, can I? I can’t do it, Lockie! Not on my own.’ She buried her face in his shoulder.
‘No, my love. Not this time.’
‘I don’t want her to hate me!’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve let her down. I can’t keep her with me, and I’ve let her down!’
‘No. No, you haven’t! You’ve fought for her and she will love you for it.’ His words were of scant comfort.
‘My Lockie.’ She closed her eyes against the fabric of his shirt.
A moment later they straightened and Lockie held her by the top of her arms.
‘We need to be strong, Freya. Remember that she will take her lead from you. We are going to keep calm.’
She nodded. ‘Can I be the one to tell her she’s being admitted, Lockie, please?’
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘You’re her mum.’ He kissed her forehead.
The sound of a key in the door heralded Charlotte’s arrival.
Freya dug deep to find a smile for her daughter’s big day. ‘Hey! How did it go?’
‘Really great.’ Charlotte nodded, happy, but looking wary at seeing her parents with tear-stained faces standing so close together behind the front door. ‘What’s going on?’
Freya wrapped her in a hug and kissed her scalp, reminding herself not to cry.
‘Lexi’s not so good, darling,’ she began.
Lockie stepped forward and interrupted, addressing his child while holding his wife’s eyeline. ‘The doctor has just left and the fact is, it’s a little more than “not so good”, Charlotte.’
Freya acknowledged his almost imperceptible nod, and she understood. This was the time for honesty, for the truth without the false smile that no longer fooled anyone.
‘Dad’s right. Lexi has to go into hospital. There’s an ambulance on its way.’
‘Oh no! How bad is she? And please don’t try to protect me. She’s my sister and I want to know.’ Charlotte twisted her sleeves around her fingers, agitated.
Freya met her child’s eyes, now moist with tears. ‘She’s very sick, darling.’
‘Do you think . . .’ She sniffed. ‘Do you think she might die, Mummy?’ Her choice of words saw her revert to a little girl in need of reassurance.
Lockie whimpered at the question.
Freya breathed in and stood tall. ‘Things are about as bad as they can get, that’s true. But we need to focus on doing everything we can to help her fight this horrible disease, okay?’
She pulled her child to her chest and held her tight while she cried, aware that her answer had been the hardest thing to hear. She thought about her warning not to let this illness shade her life. Today, however, it seemed to be blocking out all of the light.
‘Go and say hi to Lexi, then why don’t you help Dad pack her overnight bag? Can you do that for me?’ She tilted Charlotte’s chin towards her. Her daughter nodded, earnestly. Lockie gave her the briefest smile. ‘I’ll go and find a bag.’
‘Hey, Lex.’ Charlotte looked at her mum, trying with eye gestures alone to let her know that Lexi did not look too good, and following instructions to try to keep her sister calm.
Freya ignored her, concentrating on opening the window wide. She was well aware of how Lexi looked. Charlotte’s perfume lingered in the air; she looked fresh and bright. The contrast between her girls was, as ever, jarring.
‘Well done on your exams. I will get you a congratulations card the next time I am out,’ Lexi managed.
Charlotte nodded. ‘Thanks, Lex, I’m just glad they’re over.’
Lexi sat forward slightly and reached under the duvet. ‘I made you these.’
With great effort on her part, she reached into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out two finely woven plaited friendship bracelets.
Freya could only imagine how hard it must have been to weave the fine thread with inflexible, numb fingers.
Charlotte took them, swallowing the emotion that threatened. ‘This means we are friends, best friends.’
Lexi beamed. ‘You can be anything you want to be, you know, Charlotte.’
Lexi and her big sister exchanged a lingering look.
Charlotte nodded and walked forward, crouching low; she took Lexi into her arms, and held her gently, as if afraid of her withered trunk and brittle bones.
‘I love you.’ She cried, unable to stem the tears that broke their banks.
‘I love you too,’ Lexi managed.
Freya looked away, unable to witness the moment of tenderness.
Aware of the seconds ticking by, Freya entered a kind of twilight where everything had a dreamlike quality. Her vision was a little more hazy than usual, softening all that her eyes fell upon. Her words echoed, and she felt as if she were falling. The idea of landing, however, did not frighten her; quite the opposite in fact.
She sat on the side of Lexi’s bed.
The trees bowed and rustled in the warm whisper of the wind.
There was a beat of silence while Freya decided how to begin, knowing she had to tell Lexi what was going to happen, and soon.
‘Do you believe in God, Mum?’
Lexi’s words threw her off track. She gave a truthful reply. ‘I’m not sure. I want to.’
It was the best she could offer, rather than confess that her faith had been shaken by what she had witnessed, struggling to reconcile her idea of God with an omnipotent bei
ng that would allow her little girl to live in this way.
‘Why aren’t you sure?’ Lexi pushed, her breathing laboured.
Freya swallowed the emotions that threatened to burst from her. ‘I would like to believe . . . I’d like to think that it wasn’t just this little life, but I don’t know anymore.’
‘Sounds like you are . . . hedging your bets!’ She struggled to get her words out.
‘I think you might be right.’
‘I like to think that you get to see the people you’ve lost again,’ Lexi whispered. ‘But they are all better, cured.’
‘That would be nice, darling.’ She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing, fighting the desire to scream out and beat her breast in sadness.
Freya imagined she heard the wail of the ambulance several times, only for it to be false alarms, her mind playing tricks.
‘I can see the stars,’ Lexi wheezed, looking up, out of the open window.
Her breath came in an irregular pattern, her chest heaved and a large vein on the side of her neck seemed to pulse. Freya stared up at the beautiful sky of the summer evening, trying to see what Lexi saw, remembering that deep inky blue of the night sky, punctuated by a million stars and a big, big moon that hung tantalisingly close, that great adventure in the middle of the night, all those years ago.
‘Look at all those stars, Lexi, so far away.’ She touched her finger to her daughter’s cheek.
Lexi slowly raised her fingers, as if reaching out.
‘That’s it, darling, you can put one in your pocket.’
‘I’m cold.’
Freya reached for the soft mohair blanket that had been folded on to the chair. She wrapped it around her daughter, lifting her to make her comfortable. She was insubstantial, feather-light. It was like holding nothing.
Freya closed her eyes, sniffing up her tears, rubbing them away with the back of her hand. Lexi flexed her fingers and Freya feared they might break. She looked down at her daughter’s hand: her bones were now brittle, exposed, bent and barely able to support the thin, stretched skin that covered them.
Lexi sighed. ‘You said you would always help me get to wherever I wanted to go, and I am asking you to let me go. I want to go to sleep.’
The Food of Love Page 30