by Julie Shaw
But not killed her, not quite. No thanks to her. ‘She’d taken all sorts – including paracetamol, which could apparently destroy her liver,’ Nicky told her. But because he’d come back when he had, they were hopeful there’d be no lasting damage. He’d stayed at the hospital for the rest of the night, only returning home to get some sleep, and some clean clothes for her, once they assured her she was sleeping it off and going to be okay.
‘And now?’ Josie had asked him. ‘Did you want me to come and see her?’
And then he had burst into tears. ‘I don’t know what I fucking want,’ he’d sobbed. Then apologised for swearing, not realising Paula wasn’t around the house somewhere, playing. ‘I just wanted to come and tell you. I don’t know what to do with her, Jose, honest I don’t. I just don’t know what to do.’
So now Christine was home with her and Eddie – just for a day or so, while the dust settled and everyone got their heads together – and she was asleep in the spare room and Eddie had finally stopped chucking up, so, with a great deal on her mind, Josie decided she’d pop out. There was obviously nothing she could do about Carol Sloper till after the weekend, but she could at least solve the mystery of Lizzie’s non-visit to see her daughter. Had she really had a change of heart? But how did she even know? Nicky’d already told her he’d no more go round her house than fly. So who’d told her? And having gone there, why hadn’t she actually made the visit?
Josie wasn’t stupid. Much as the thought of Lizzie taking Chris back made her happy, she wasn’t born yesterday – the phrase ‘pigs might fly’ sprang to mind. But since Chris was so agitated about it, she might as well kill two birds with one stone, mightn’t she? She had to walk down to Eddie’s mam’s to pick Paula up in any case so, on the way, she would pop in and see Lizzie.
Chapter 19
The social service offices looked as gloomy as Josie felt. They were over on Killinghall Road, so she’d had to trek right through the town centre to get there, which had been a long slog through all the slush, despite the milder turn in the weather. It had done very little to brighten her bleak mood – any more than the stark row of grey Victorian buildings. Cold and unwelcoming, they certainly didn’t look like the sort of place where you’d take children to get a better start in life.
There was a part of Josie that knew this was not the best time to confront Carol Sloper either. A Monday morning, the first working day of the New Year. The woman probably had all kinds of shit on her plate and, in all fairness, she should give the woman the benefit of the doubt – not go wellying into her office all guns blazing.
She knew she’d have a struggle keeping calm, too. She was still in shock – both about Christine, whose suicide attempt had really shaken her, and about Lizzie – there were no two ways about it. Lizzie added an extra layer of darkness to an already bleak situation, and, if Carol was to be believed, one she couldn’t see lifting any time soon. Joey gone, Christine wanting to top herself, and now this new and terrible news.
The strain of not knowing whether to tell Christine or keep it from her was beginning to take its toll, too. Truth be known, Josie had been glad when Nicky had walked round yesterday afternoon to take Christine home again, because she was finding it hard to look her friend in the eye.
Lizzie had answered the door two days earlier – less than twenty-four hours after Chrissy’s overdose – and, for a moment, all Josie could do was gape. She looked terrible. Emaciated. Old. Rail-thin already, she’d lost an enormous amount of weight – and in an incredibly short space of time, too. If this was what happened when you had Rasta Mo in your life, Josie had found herself thinking, then thank God Christine had nothing more to do with him.
But Lizzie wasn’t love sick. She was proper sick. She was seriously ill, in fact – it turned out that she had leukaemia.
Josie’s second shock that Saturday afternoon was to find that her mam was round at Lizzie’s too, looking much better than she’d any right to, given the party the previous evening – though, in comparison to Lizzie, who looked like a concentration-camp inmate, even with the roughest hangover she couldn’t have come close.
‘And yes, you’re right. I was at the hospital,’ Lizzie confirmed in answer to Josie’s question as June had poured tea for them all. ‘I had a turn. I’ve been on chemo and I had a really nasty turn. Makes you sick, it does – it’s bloody horrible, but I’m used to that, sort of – but I woke up on Saturday with big bruises all over my arms and legs and I decided I’d better get down the ’ossy and get them checked out.’ She looked down at her bony arm. ‘Much good it’ll fucking do me.’
For once, Josie found she wasn’t even remotely irritated by the business of it being all about Lizzie. It was. She’d seen lots in her life, but she couldn’t take her eyes off her. She’d heard the phrase ‘death warmed up’ – had used it many times herself. Actually seeing it – or what looked like it – chilled her. And when Lizzie went into the other room to get a cushion to put on her chair – ‘Skin and bones, I am. Even hurts to bloody sit!’ – the few words her mother was able to mouth to her seemed to confirm it. Lizzie was dying. Not even forty and she was dying.
‘So what brings you round here?’ Lizzie’d asked on her return. And after a moment’s hesitation, Josie had told her. At first, given what she’d just been told, she’d thought perhaps she shouldn’t, but the rational part of her brain soon overruled the emotional. Perhaps, for all Lizzie professed to have expunged Christine from her life, the seriousness of her illness, and the kind of thoughts that would presumably go with it, might mean she’d had a rethink. Though knowing her as she did, Josie was under no illusions. Even if she had, she would be much too proud to say so.
So she’d explained about Christine’s overdose and the chain of events that had preceded it, and though Lizzie’s questions about the outcome were perfunctory at best, she’d thought she’d seen something. She hoped so.
Josie took a moment to compose herself before pushing open the double doors. Here it was, already Monday, and she still couldn’t take it in. Couldn’t get past how appalled she was about the unfairness of it all. The thought of Lizzie dying – she couldn’t seem to process that at all, and had kept Eddie up half the night – both Saturday and last night – going round and round in circles, trying, and failing, to properly accept that, however cruel, it was happening nevertheless.
Which was why she’d felt doubly angered by Carol Sloper. Yes, she knew she had a job to do and she understood why she’d taken Joey. And a part of her still agreed it was the necessary course of action, however unpalatable that was for her to live with.
But the weight of the thing Christine didn’t know weighed very heavily. Josie obviously couldn’t second guess how she’d react to her mam’s cancer, but on one point she was clear. And that knowledge coloured absolutely everything, up to and including how she might react when Josie did tell her about her mam – that Carol Sloper had encouraged her to try and take her own life every bit as surely as if she’d poured the pills down Christine’s throat herself.
Not that Carol Sloper knew. Carol Sloper knew nothing about any of it. Knew nothing about the events that had followed the visit in which she’d not only taken Joey’s presents but had taken all Christine’s hope, and as a consequence was lucky that she was still left with her life.
And once she’d shown up to Carol’s office – which she shared with several other social workers but was, thankfully, currently empty – Josie, who told her only that she wanted to chat about her friend, wasted no time in filling her in.
Not that Carol was one for preamble anyway. ‘How is Christine doing?’ were the first words she uttered, even as she gestured to a seat.
Josie didn’t sit down. ‘She’s alive,’ she said. ‘Just.’
Carol Sloper hovered behind her desk, obviously uncertain about sitting down herself now. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said. Now she did sit on her swivel chair, sweeping her heavy woollen skirt beneath her as she did so.
‘She took an ove
rdose,’ Josie added. ‘On New Year’s Eve.’
Carol Sloper stood up again. ‘What?’
She glanced past Josie then, and she wondered if her first thought was to throw a coat on, grab her briefcase and hotfoot it round there. Again she wondered at the sort of person you needed to be to have other people’s lives on your mind – and on your conscience – in that way.
‘She tried to kill herself,’ she clarified. ‘Was that what you wanted?’
‘Was what what I wanted?’ Carol Sloper’s voice was small.
‘Her death. My friend’s death. Is that really what you want on your conscience?’
Despite all her promises to herself that she’d keep calm, Josie couldn’t seem to stop the words from spewing from her mouth. ‘Is it what you wanted?’ she went on, fixing her furious gaze on the startled social worker. ‘Because, my God, you pretty nearly got it!’
Carol Sloper’s blouse was the perfect choice of workwear. Buttoned up to the throat, and tied off with a little bow. Sensible and unostentatious, just like she was. Next to the women of her age Josie more usually came into contact with, she could so easily fade into the distance, unseen. Become a wallflower – go completely unnoticed.
How wrong she’d been to judge her on something so superficial. The woman was as hard as they came.
‘What are you talking about?’ she said, in her soft, approachable, but not quite believable accent.
Josie was only too happy to tell her.
And as she did so, the woman’s eyes widened and the colour drained from her. She now looked as grey as the cardigan she wore.
‘But why?’ she asked. Josie’s expression made her regroup and qualify. ‘I mean what prompted it? What specifically? Did something happen?’
Josie rolled her eyes. ‘All due respect,’ she said, ‘but you were what happened! The one hope Christine had of dragging herself out of this spiral was the hope that she’d get to see her baby again! What were you thinking, telling her all those things you told her? Christ! What did you expect to happen? You just destroyed her last hope! She tried to top herself because she’s got bugger all to live for now, has she?’
The words had been swilling round and round her brain all the way here, but now they were out she felt none of the satisfaction she’d expected, as she watched the rosy glow disappear from Carol Sloper’s face.
There was a silence then, a long one, as Carol Sloper digested what Josie had spelled out for her. ‘Oh, God,’ she said finally, clicking and unclicking the top on her cheap ballpoint. ‘Where’d you say she is? I need to see her …’
Josie put a hand up. ‘Trust me, you are the last person she needs to see right now. “Oh, hi there, person who just told me I’m never going to see my baby again …” Yep, I think you can imagine just how well that’s going to go.’
She stopped then, becoming aware that Carol Sloper was beginning to grimace. No, not grimace, exactly. That her face was just bending slightly out of shape. She lunged into her bag, pulling out a pocket pack of tissues and opening it. She was crying, Josie realised. That was what she was doing – she was weeping.
She slumped down into her seat now, and Josie felt all at once both furious with the woman and sorry for her. Furious at her for snivelling – she’d no business to be doing that; she’d bloody caused all this, hadn’t she? And also sorry for her. For the shit job she did, day in day out. Much as social workers were viewed with fear and suspicion on Canterbury, she hadn’t forgotten the decision Carol Sloper had been forced to make. Wouldn’t forget. Still couldn’t find it in herself to disagree with. But what had happened since …
She sighed, put her bag down and plonked herself down on the chair opposite. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you. Well, okay, I did. It’s not been the best weekend ever, as you can imagine. Look, I just couldn’t …’ She sighed again. ‘I just couldn’t get my head round why you’d tell her something like that. I really can’t. I mean, even if it’s true, did she need to know that when she was – is – so frigging vulnerable? Christ …’
She could feel her anger rising again.
‘That wasn’t what I said, Josie. Genuinely, that was not what I told her. Yes, I came down hard on her – I know I did, I accept that – because she was stoned, and I wanted her to take what I was saying seriously.’ She paused. ‘Because it is serious, okay? But at no point did I tell her Joey would definitely be put up for adoption. At no point. I just told her that if she carried on the way she was going the likelihood of that happening would increase. Because it would.’
She blew her nose. Did it delicately. Deliberately. Like a lady. And Josie found herself wondering how much she really understood about the lives that she held in her unvarnished hands.
Her eyes were still shining. She was clearly still very upset. ‘I just wanted to shock her,’ she said again. ‘No question. I felt I needed to. It was a shock to me, too. I thought she was getting her act together. I thought with you on her case – well, she listens to you, doesn’t she? I thought she’d turn it around, what with Joey getting that bit older. But you have to understand, Josie – and I know you of all people do –’ The inference was plain. ‘I can’t just sit there and let things ride. That would be a dereliction of duty. If people flag something up, then I’ve a duty to act. As you – as would anyone – would want me to do, if you thought a child was being mistreated.’
Josie raised a hand. ‘Hang on. Hang on. What are you on about? What d’you mean, “flagging up”. What’s been flagged up? By who?’
Carol Sloper blew her nose. Shook her head while she was doing so. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You said if people flag something up you have a duty to act. What do you mean? You say “people”. Who?’
‘Josie, don’t play naïve here. You’ve been closer to her than anyone. Not to mention the fact that you were there.’
‘The baby group? You mean the baby group? Yes, I was there. And I promise you, Christine did absolutely nothing out of order. Nothing at all. Who told you all this? Was it that woman who runs it? Because, believe me, Christine did nothing – said nothing – that could give you cause to do what you did. Nothing.’ She sat back. ‘That’s why you came and took him, was it? Because some jumped-up old cow had it in for her? And you believed her? Jesus Christ!’
Carol Sloper stiffened. ‘Actually no, Josie. It wasn’t “just that” – though brawling at a mother and baby club is hardly what I’d call acceptable behaviour. But of course it wasn’t just that. She’s been living as a virtual junkie –’
‘But Joey’s been fine. She’d never hurt him. Never neglect him. I’ve been there. I’ve been with him. And no, it’s not ideal’ – she stopped short of swearing about the housing – ‘but he’s been fine!’
‘No, he hasn’t!’ She’d properly shouted. ‘No, Josie. Not by any decent standard. I don’t know what you see, but I’ve seen something else. Filthy clothes. Filthy body. Reeking of smoke. Under-stimulated. And being cared for by a mother who is not fit to care for him. Now, you know perfectly well how much I wish things were otherwise but, seriously, Josie –’ She lifted a hand and pointed a finger. ‘Would you take your little one to a playgroup when drunk?’
Josie’s eyes widened. ‘That’s ridiculous. I –’
‘No it’s criminal, that’s what it is. And the last straw. There is always a last straw, and Christine chose to ignore it.’
It hit Josie then. Bam. Like a child’s wooden mallet. That’s what had done it. The woman’s bile. The woman’s vile malicious bile. She’d been unable to stop herself, even knowing Josie could tell anyone otherwise. Just slipped it in. She was drunk. She’d been drinking. She reeked of it. ‘Sylvia Harris,’ she said, pointing her own finger. ‘Sylvia Harris.’ She didn’t need to say more.
Perhaps because of that – all unsaid, because social workers never revealed their sources – Carol Sloper was even more mortified. She was making excuses, yes – wouldn’t Josie lose her temper se
eing Christine in the state she was on that grim December morning? Already having smoked a joint? Already done for the day? But she was also contrite, because, actually, she understood perfectly. She’d taken Joey, without warning, based on the malicious, and spurious, reports from a woman who positively revelled in the opportunity to settle the score. Who’d done the one thing Canterbury people never did – been a snitch to the social.
Josie knew she could – and would – deal with Sylvia Harris later. Right now, more importantly, had the situation changed any? Was there any way Carol Sloper could give Christine an ounce of hope?
Carol sighed long and loud as she laced her slim fingers. ‘You know I’d love to be able to tell you that,’ she said, and she looked sincere. ‘I’d love to be able to tell you that this – what you’ve disclosed – changes everything. That if Christine turns her life around – and she would have to do that wholesale – there would be hope for contact and, at some point, for a reassessment of the situation. And one thing I can at least tell you is that he’s still with the same foster family and there are no plans to put him up for adoption in the short term.’
‘Contact?’ Josie seized upon it. ‘That would make all the difference in the world to her. With that at least to hope for …’
Carol Sloper raised her hand for a second time. ‘Don’t give her that hope, Josie. I cannot in all conscience let you. I understand what you’re saying and I know how much this matters. But since Joey went into care I’ve seen nothing to reassure me. And now a drugs-related overdose as well.’
‘Not drugs-related,’ Josie corrected her. ‘No. Not that at all.’
Carol Sloper looked sympathetic. ‘In the scheme of things it makes little difference, Josie. It’s not the sort of distinction the panel will care about a great deal. It’s still an attempted suicide.’
Josie leaned forward. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please let me give her some hope. Some contact. One visit. Is that so much to ask? Is it really?’