When She Finds You

by A J McDine

  ‘Even if it sends their behaviour in a downward spiral?’

  I have no answer for that. She picks up her pen again.

  ‘Take me through what happened.’

  ‘We were in the greenhouse potting up plants for the open day.’

  ‘We?’ she queries.

  ‘Me, Martin, and two of the new volunteers, Roz and Derek.’

  She scribbles in the incident book. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Martin became agitated. I’m not sure what sparked it. I think he may have been hearing voices. I tried to calm him down, but he was getting more and more worked up. Roz was worried he was going to hurt himself and managed to restrain him. That’s when Geoff arrived and we called Maureen.’

  ‘I phoned Derek this morning to hear his version of events. He said Martin was asking for your knife.’

  I lower my gaze. ‘He may have done. I honestly can’t remember. But I didn’t give it to him. Obviously.’

  Angela raises her eyebrows. ‘Is it? Obvious, I mean. Derek had the impression you’d lent your knife to Martin before. Have you?’

  For a second I consider lying, but that would call into question Derek’s account, and I can’t do that. I don’t think Angela would believe me anyway.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I have. But only when the two of us have been working together and I have supervised him at all times. It means a great deal to him that I trust him with it.’

  ‘Trust!’ Angela explodes. ‘Martin suffers from manic and psychotic symptoms. He’s already stabbed you once. What if he’d killed you or one of the new volunteers with a knife you’d given him? Imagine the headlines!’

  I pound my fist on the desk. ‘Is that all you’re worried about, the bad publicity?’

  ‘Of course it isn’t. There’s a huge difference between treating our service users with dignity and respect and putting people’s lives at risk through utter naivety and, I’m afraid, you have been terribly naive. I have no doubt you believe you were acting in Martin’s best interests, but the fact is you weren’t. I have grave concerns about your conduct. Consider this a verbal warning. Continued or repeated issues with your conduct may result in further disciplinary action including, in an extreme case, dismissal.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’

  She fishes a letter out from under the incident book. ‘The verbal warning will sit on your file for the next year. Here’s a written record of it which I’d like you to sign to confirm this conversation took place.’

  ‘But I was with him the whole time and he didn’t hurt anyone!’

  Angela strides over to my desk and places the letter in front of me. A muscle is twitching in her jaw.

  ‘I would have been well within my rights to have called a disciplinary hearing. You’re getting off lightly, believe me.’

  I glare at her. ‘That sounds like a threat.’

  She shakes her head. ‘It’s nothing of the sort. Please sign the letter and we can move on.’

  Frustration distorts my thinking and before I even realise what I’m doing I snatch up the letter, screw it into a ball and hurl it in the vague direction of the bin.

  I haul myself to my feet. ‘After everything I’ve done for Cam this is the thanks I get. Well, you can stick your verbal warning up your arse, you evil cow. I’m going home.’

  Angela’s hand flies to her mouth and she takes a step back. The shock in her eyes makes me feel immensely powerful and I grab my bag and storm out of the office, righteousness fuelling my anger.

  ‘Sophie, wait!’ she calls.

  But I ignore her, slamming the door shut behind me.

  It’s only as I’m almost home that the doubts set in. Perhaps Angela was within her rights to hold a disciplinary hearing. Perhaps I have been let off lightly with a verbal warning. Throwing a hissy fit wasn’t the most sensible way to handle the situation. But she has an uncanny knack of winding me up and today I couldn’t help but let rip.

  I let myself into the house, wishing Matt was home so I could talk it through with him. I could use an objective view to work out if I’ve been out of order or if Angela’s in the wrong. But Matt’s ninety miles away in Brighton. I could phone Lou, but it’s gone five so she’s probably halfway to being pissed already. Instead I decide to see if Roz can meet me for a drink. She’s the perfect person to talk it over with. She’s met Angela, was there when Martin had his meltdown, and she’s firmly on my side.

  My phone pings seconds after I text her.

  Sure. Phil and Cait are still at his mum’s. What about the Beverlie? I can be there in half an hour. We can sit in the garden x

  I’m smiling as I text a thumbs up emoji back. After the dramas we’ve survived this week, Roz and I have definitely moved from casual friendship to something more meaningful. I take a quick shower, slap on some foundation and mascara and change into my Vertbaudet teeshirt and white leggings.

  It’s not far to Ye Olde Beverlie and it’s such a warm evening I decide to walk. Matt and I considered it our local when we first bought the house, and before he moved to Brighton we’d often pop in for a drink after work. We don’t seem to do fun stuff like that anymore. He often brings work home with him at weekends and sits glued to his laptop while I catch up on chores. And money is tight after the IVF and he refuses to pay four quid for a pint when it costs him half the price at home.

  As I mooch along the residential streets towards the pub I realise I still haven’t tackled him about Monday night. I’m not sure why, to be honest. It’s not like I haven’t had plenty of opportunity. He sends me a dozen texts a day asking how the baby is. Thankfully it’s been been as active as ever, kicking and wriggling like a whirling dervish. One less thing to worry about.

  Is Matt genuinely concerned or is it a sign of guilt? The truth is I’m afraid to ask him where he really was. I can’t bear it if he lies to me again. Greg’s bound to have warned him that I know he wasn’t with them. What if he spins me another yarn? It’s pathetic, but I don’t want to go there. Not when there’s so much other crap to deal with.

  The sound of my name makes me jump and I look up to see Roz crossing the street towards me. She’s wearing a pretty print dress and her hair looks shiny and freshly blow-dried. Beside her I feel fat and frumpy. But the warmth of her smile as she slips her arm in mine is like salve on a wound and as we walk into the pub together my spirits rise.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Now

  Roz shimmies through the pub garden towards me, a drink in each hand. White wine spritzer for her, elderflower sparkling water for me. The garden is busy with people sipping craft beers and designer gins with Fever-Tree tonics while staring at their mobile phones. A couple of men look up and eye Roz appreciatively as she navigates her way around their picnic benches. It’s endearing that she has no idea just how attractive she is. She looks like a single girl about town, not mumsy at all. I hope I still manage to turn heads once the baby’s born.

  ‘So,’ she says, handing me my drink and sliding into the seat opposite me. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Angela found out I’ve been lending my penknife to Martin and went absolutely ballistic. She gave me a verbal warning.’

  ‘She did what?’

  ‘She said if there were any further issues with my conduct I’d be dismissed.’

  ‘That’s bang out of order. You ought to speak to your union rep.’

  I shrug. ‘I’m not in a union. Didn’t think I needed to be.’

  ‘Then make an official complaint about her to the trustees. Tell them she’s been bullying you. That’ll put the wind up her tail.’

  ‘I don’t think I could class it as bullying.’

  ‘Who cares? It’d be your word against hers, and you’ve been there a lot longer. Workplace bullying and harassment is totally unacceptable these days. And no employer in their right mind is going to risk not taking you seriously while you’re pregnant.’

  ‘Even so…’ I say, remembering my angry outburst. I can hardly claim Ange
la intimidated me. In fact, she’d probably be justified in making a complaint about my behaviour. I shift in my seat and fiddle with the straw in my drink.

  ‘Don’t let her walk all over you. You’re always moaning about how annoying she is. She’s a grade A bitch and she deserves everything she gets.’

  ‘Perhaps she was worried because of what happened with Martin last time.’

  Roz frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

  I hold up my arm and show her the three-inch-long scar, as serrated as the teeth of a pair of pinking shears, below my elbow.

  ‘I assumed you did that when you were a kid, falling off a bike or something.’

  ‘You noticed it?’

  ‘Hard not to. What the hell happened?’

  I hesitate. I still don’t blame Martin. It wasn’t his fault. ‘About two years ago Martin had a psychotic episode at Cam. He was hearing voices. One of the voices told him the staff were zombies and if he wanted to protect the gardeners he had to kill us one by one. He snuck into the cellar and armed himself with one of Geoff’s old handsaws. I realised he’d disappeared and went to look for him. I found him at the top of the steps to the cellar. It was weird. His eyes were totally blank. He was there but he wasn’t there, if you know what I mean.’

  Roz glances at me. ‘I do.’

  ‘I tried talking him down, but I couldn’t get through to him. He lifted the saw high above his head. I thought he was going to slash me with it, so I held up my arms to defend myself. Then one of the other gardeners screamed and he whipped the saw back down. My arm was in the way.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘He swore afterwards he hadn’t meant to cut me. He’d told the voices he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He was holding the saw out of their reach.’

  ‘Easy to say,’ Roz spits. She leans towards me and fingers the scar. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t hit a main artery.’

  ‘It wasn’t as bad as it looks. I only needed a handful of stitches. The tetanus jab hurt more. Anyway, he soon stabilised once he was back on his meds and he’s been fine ever since.’

  ‘Until Monday.’

  ‘Until Monday,’ I agree.

  ‘What are you going to do about Angela?’

  I run a hand through my hair. ‘Apologise, I suppose. I was out of order, yelling at her like that.’

  Roz tuts. ‘You need to stand up for yourself. You let people walk all over you.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Anyway, let’s talk about something more cheerful. Are you looking forward to Caitlyn coming home?’

  Roz takes a slug of her spritzer. ‘Of course. The bedroom’s all ready.’

  ‘Oh, have you decorated it for her?’

  ‘I’ve painted it cornflower-blue.’

  ‘Not pink?’

  Roz shakes her head. ‘You know what a tomboy she is. I’ve made blue and white checked curtains and I’ve bought a Peter Rabbit frieze for the wall behind the cot.’

  ‘She’s still in a cot?’

  ‘You know what I mean. One of those ones that converts into a bed.’

  ‘It sounds great. I’m sure she’ll love it.’ I point to her empty glass. ‘Want another?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  I gather both glasses and head inside. The bar is dark after the glare of the summer sun and I push my sunglasses onto the top of my head. The barmaid is serving someone on the other side of the bar. I take the opportunity to pop to the ladies’. As I come out I reach into my bag for my purse and almost collide with a boy in a checked linen shirt and cargo shorts. He sidesteps me just in time, but not before the pint he’s carrying slops over the rim of the glass and drenches his shirt.

  I hold my hands up in apology. ‘So sorry.’

  ‘No worries,’ he says in a Boston accent that’s pure Cheers.

  My heart lurches. It’s Josh, looking more like Ed than ever as he smiles down at me.

  ‘I’m an idiot. I wasn’t looking where I was going. And now you’ve got beer all over your shirt. Let me buy you another. Beer, I mean.’ I’m gabbling but I can’t stop the words tumbling out of my mouth. ‘You’re Josh Sullivan, aren’t you?’

  Josh glances at the door to the beer garden.

  ‘I know your mum,’ I say before he has a chance to disappear. ‘We were friends at school.’

  His face creases into a smile. ‘Hey wait, are you Sophie?’

  I smile back. ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘Mom told me all about you. You were, like, best buds back in the day.’

  ‘We were indeed.’

  ‘Shame you guys lost touch. But I’m glad you invited her over the other night. She could use a friend right now.’ A shadow darkens his face and I touch his arm.

  ‘I’m so sorry about your dad. We were friends, too. Back in the day.’

  ‘Yeah well, shit happens. Mom never mentioned you knew Dad.’

  ‘It was a long time ago.’

  Josh shoots another look at the door. ‘I’d better go. I’m meeting some dudes from college.’

  I realise my hand is still on his arm and I drop it to my side. ‘Of course. Tell your mum I’ll be in touch.’

  He smiles again. ‘That’d be cool. Hey, it was nice to meet you.’

  ‘It was nice to meet you, too,’ I say. But he’s already turned his back on me and is waving to his friends.

  ‘What took you so long?’ says Roz as I deposit our glasses on the table.

  I’m about to tell her about bumping into Josh but it’s all too complicated. Instead I grimace.

  ‘The baby’s using my bladder as a trampoline so I needed the loo, then there was a queue at the bar.’

  She narrows her eyes. ‘You’re not complaining, are you? You’re lucky everything’s OK.’

  ‘I know.’ I rub the side of my bump. My belly feels as tight as a drum.

  Roz clasps her hands together. ‘You need to be really careful now. This is a critical time for you and the baby. Are you and Matt still having sex?’

  I am taken aback by her directness until I remind myself it’s just her way and she has my best interests at heart. I cast my mind back to the last time Matt and I made love and then realise I can’t remember. We’re always too busy or too tired.

  Roz, mistaking my silence for modesty, says, ‘It’s OK, you won’t embarrass me. When I found out I was pregnant with Caitlyn, I wouldn’t let Phil near me with a bargepole, let alone his dick. There was no way I was going to risk another miscarriage, not after all I’d been through.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ I reply, thinking, Valentine’s Day, that was the last time. A meal deal from Marks & Spencer and a bottle of Prosecco, not that I had much more than a couple of sips. I count surreptitiously on my fingers. Six months ago. Surely it can’t be that long?

  ‘So, are you?’ Roz repeats, her green eyes fixed on mine.

  ‘Not for ages, now you come to mention it.’

  She gives an approving nod. ‘Just as well. I know they say it doesn’t hurt the baby, but you really can’t be too careful.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Although… ’ She stops and gives a little shake of her head.

  ‘Although what?’

  She glances sidelong at me. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What doesn’t matter? What were you going to say?’

  She hesitates, then pulls a face. ‘If he’s not getting it at home, I hope he’s not getting it somewhere else.’

  Packages are arriving every day. Whenever the doorbell rings I skip along the hallway with the excited step of a five-year-old child impatient to see if Santa’s on the doorstep. I snatch the parcels from the hands of startled delivery drivers before slamming the door in their faces and ripping open the packaging as I hurry upstairs to inspect my latest purchase.

  Today’s delivery was better than I could have hoped for. It was eye-wateringly expensive, but I’d been seduced by the marketing guff on the website. Unrivalled service, outstanding products, discretion guaranteed, you know the kind of thing.


  I give the authentic, individually hand-crafted, medical-grade hypoallergenic silicone an experimental prod, pleased with the way it yields to my touch. I poke harder, just for fun, my forefinger disappearing in the folds of pink.

  Suddenly excited, I pull my teeshirt over my head, toss it onto the bed and wriggle into my purchase. Take two steps across my tiny bedroom to the wall mirror and turn this way and that with my hands on my hips as I admire my new silhouette. I think of Juliana Sanchez, how frightened she must have felt when her contractions started, weeks too early.

  I pick up the stainless steel scalpel on my dressing table and run it lightly along my new silicone belly from my breastbone to my pubic bone and sigh with pleasure.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Then

  I’m sitting on the floor in the cramped bathroom at my house, staring at the plastic stick in my hand as if it holds the answers to the universe. Which, in a way, it does. The answers to my universe, anyway.

  ‘Ready?’ says Lou. She’s perched on the closed loo seat, watching me.

  I swallow. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I bet you my new Rimmel nail varnish it’s negative.’

  ‘It’s Friday the thirteenth,’ I wail. ‘We should have waited until tomorrow.’

  ‘Stop being superstitious. And jumping to conclusions. You might be fine and then you’ll feel like a complete prat for making such a fuss.’

  ‘What about the puking?’

  ‘Morning sickness is called morning sickness for a reason. You’ve been puking halfway through the afternoon.’ Lou speaks with authority, but she’s talking out of her arse. Fact is, Mum had morning sickness in the afternoon. Some women do.

  I hug my knees to my chest. ‘How much longer?’ My parents have popped into town and I’m not sure when they’ll be back. I can’t risk them arriving home in the middle of this… this catastrophe.

  ‘Another two minutes, give or take.’ Lou consults the box in her hand. ‘And if you are, a thin blue line will appear in the window.’