The Edge of Sanity

by Sheryl Browne

  He had known what terror was. He’d been terrified of opening old wounds, of probing new ones. He’d learned silence as a child. Not to speak of his pain because he wouldn’t be heard, because there was no one to hear him. How else would he have got through it, but to bury the pain so deep down, he could pretend not to feel it?

  Daniel’s inability to talk about Emma hadn’t meant he’d hurt any less than she. If anything, he’d hurt more. He’d been behind the wheel, for God’s sake.

  She really had been blind, lost in her own pain. But how could she have seen, when he couldn’t say?

  And now … it might be too late.

  To hold him.

  To comfort him.

  To be there for him.

  ‘Mum,’ Kayla said in a small voice beside her, ‘will he come back?’

  Jo tugged in a breath. ‘Yes.’ She nodded determinedly, tightening her arm around her daughter. ‘He’ll come back. We’ll be together again soon, I promise.’

  He would come back. He had to. She forced herself to believe it. And when he did—Joanne made another promise, to herself and to Kayla, they would have all of him, the best of the man that had somehow got lost. Because while Joanne had breath in her own body and with God as a witness, she would not let Daniel Conner shut his emotions away ever again.

  ****

  Jo hadn’t been aware she’d been sleeping. The steady blip, blip of the monitor combined with exhaustion must have lulled her to sleep. She had a crick in her neck and her arm was so numb she couldn’t feel it. She glanced to where her hand lay on Daniel’s, her fingers curled softly around his. He hadn’t moved. No movement at all apart from the soft flicker of his eyelids as his eyes chased his dreams.

  Jo prayed they weren’t nightmares.

  The surgeons had worked relentlessly, tirelessly, and by some miracle managed to prevent the blood clot, caused by that animal’s vicious blows from reaching his heart. It had been a miracle too. Even with surgical intervention, his chances had been slim to none, Jo had been made aware of that at the outset. He was weak. Still stuffed full of anaesthetic and morphine but, God willing, he would recover physically. Mentally and emotionally though, Jo knew those wounds might take longer to heal.

  He was alive. That was all that mattered for now.

  She breathed in, and then let out a long, shuddery, but determined sigh. ‘Don’t you dare die on us, Daniel Conner. Not now. You’ve come too far,’ she whispered, her voice loud against the silence punctuated by the bleeps of the life support system. ‘You get well. Get strong, do you hear me? Or you’ll be in big trouble. And this is just from your daughter.’

  She squeezed his hand gently and wiped at her snotty nose with her free hand.

  ‘We have things to do, you and I.’ Lives to rebuild, she thought, forcing back a tear, then almost shot out of her skin as Daniel said, ‘Lie for me.’

  Jo got halfway to her feet. ‘What?’ She stared hard at him.

  ‘Don’t let her see me like this. Tell Kayla I’m still sleeping.’ Daniel’s eyes fluttered open. He smiled, the faintest of smiles, then coughed and squeezed Jo’s hand hard.

  Jo wasted no time, jabbing buttons and calling for help, and when it came, even while they were checking monitors and tubes and pillows and oxygen, Daniel refused to let go of her hand.

  Finally, as comfortable as he could be, he dozed. Fitfully, Jo noticed as she watched him; jolting painfully awake, perspiration beading his brow and sheer terror in his eyes when they occasionally shot open.

  He spoke little and incoherently mostly, sometimes the odd thing that made sense. Where’s Kayla, he’d asked at least four times, only to ask again, though Jo kept repeating she was safe with Hannah and her mum.

  He’d asked where Emma was, too, which broke Jo’s heart all over again, only for Daniel though this time. Had he ever come to terms with the fact that she was gone, Jo wondered. The doctor had confirmed that the morphine was feeding his confusion, but still Jo worried. Daniel needed help, now more than ever, to be able to deal with their loss and let go of Emma. She would always be in their hearts. No one could ever take that away. But they had to put the bad memories to rest, treasure the good, and move on.

  Both of them, together. They needed to talk. They needed to talk like never before, openly, honestly, and to each other.

  But not yet. If she was too numb to think straight, God knew Daniel had every right to be.

  The fact was, they needed to relearn how to talk. To take baby steps forward instead of running away, and to be there for each other if one of them fell.

  Jo checked again. He was still sleeping. Reluctant though she was, Jo knew she should leave him to rest. Use the time to make some calls and sort out somewhere to stay. Once that was done and she’d eaten something—if only to keep her own strength up—then she’d be back by his side, where Daniel might need her.

  Weary to the bone and almost incapable of keeping her own eyes open, Jo brushed Daniel’s damp hair from his forehead, pressed her lips lightly against his cheek, then left him to rest. She wasn’t going far though, or for long until Daniel was out of danger. Kayla was safe at Hannah’s house for now, so she’d book a room at a nearby hotel, at least until she’d sorted out where on earth they were going to live.

  She couldn’t go back to the boatyard, even though she was apparently free to do so. The police had finished their business there and Tony wasn’t pressuring her to move out. He’d been as good as gold when she’d rung him, caring and considerate, saying he’d put things on hold, but she couldn’t go back. Not yet. If ever.

  Certainly not without Daniel.

  Jo needed to get her own emotions in order. Right now, they were in turmoil. She needed to be able to think straight. To make whatever decisions needed to be made while Daniel wasn’t capable. To make the right decisions, for her family.

  ****

  Joanne headed for the main entrance to the hospital where DI Short waited. Bless him for having the forethought to leave his contact number, she thought, glad to see a familiar face. She hadn’t a clue how she was going to even get to a hotel, let alone book a room, otherwise, without her purse or a penny to her name.

  ‘Joanne.’ DI Short stood to meet her, looking as exhausted as she felt. ‘How is he?’

  Jo smiled. DI Short was a good man. She could always tell, by the eyes. Daniel’s eyes were a true window to his soul. And he was a good man, too. She wouldn’t lose sight of that again.

  ‘Better,’ she said. ‘Conscious, but not making much sense, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Do men ever?’ DI Short smiled. A mischievous yet compassionate smile, Jo noticed, and knew she was right. She would be able to trust this man, if she needed to. ‘Your carriage awaits ma’am.’ He held out his arm for Jo to hook on to, which she did gratefully.

  He walked her towards the exit. ‘So where’s it to be? Somewhere close at hand, I presume?’

  ‘And cheap but cheerful.’ Jo nodded. ‘At least until I know what my next move …’ She trailed off as someone called out her name behind them.

  ‘Joanne!’ The woman hurrying down the corridor called again.

  ‘Someone you know?’ DI Short arched an eyebrow, looking somewhat bemused as the woman flapped towards them tripping over her flips flops.

  ‘Hannah’s mother,’ Joanne confirmed, confused.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Cathy said, coming to a breathless halt in front of them, one hand on her heaving chest, one on DI Short’s shoulder as she kicked off a flip flop, then bent to rub her toes. ‘I’ve been calling you halfway across the hospital.’

  Joanne blinked at her, confusion giving way to alarm. What on earth was she doing here? Surely she hadn’t …

  ‘Don’t worry I haven’t left the girls on their own.’ Cathy picked up Jo’s thoughts, slapping a flip flop noisily back down and wriggling her sore toes back into it. ‘They’re in the capable hands of my mother, who’s got her infamous homemade soup on the go as we speak. And Hannah’s downlo
aded a million films, so …’

  Jo remembered her manners. ‘Thanks, Cathy. I’m grateful. How is she?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Cathy answered her honestly. ‘I’ve tried to coax her to talk, but she’s barely said a word.’

  Joanne’s shoulders sank. ‘Not to Hannah either?’

  Cathy shook her head. ‘She will in time. It’s all still a bit raw, after all. And she’s obviously worrying herself silly about her father.’

  Still blaming herself, Jo wondered? She glanced down, overwhelmed by tiredness now, and the sheer weight of worry.

  ‘I have a room,’ Cathy said, without further ado. ‘I know what your situation is and I’m pretty sure you won’t want to be going straight back to the boatyard.’

  Joanne looked back up. ‘No, I … We could, for a while, but …’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t want to either, just yet,’ Cathy finished intuitively. ‘And I’m pretty damn sure I wouldn’t want to spend my time on my own in a hotel room either. My room’s not a room at the Ritz but it’s comfortable and big enough for both you and Kayla, until Daniel’s back on his feet. It’s also that bit closer to the hospital than your place, so what do you say?’

  ‘I, um …’ Jo looked into the eyes of yet another kind stranger, and promptly burst into tears.

  At which DI Short coughed awkwardly. ‘I think that might be a yes.’ He gently unhooked Jo’s hand from his arm, gave her shoulders a squeeze, and guided her into Cathy’s waiting embrace.

  ****

  Fresher if not exactly refreshed—the half hour’s nap she’d hoped for being rather elusive, Jo peered into Cathy’s lounge. Kayla and Hannah were heavily into the 24 series DVDs. She made signals to Hannah to hit the pause button and came in. ‘Hi, sweetie,’ she said, seating herself next to Kayla curled up on the sofa. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine,’ Kayla replied, far too quickly. ‘I already said.’

  ‘We need to talk, Kayla,’ Jo ventured carefully. ‘All of us.’

  Kayla said nothing, just curled herself tighter.

  ‘There’s no use in bottling it up, Kayla,’ Jo said softly. ‘There’s been far too much of that, don’t you think? We have to grow up and talk to each other like adults. You said so, remember?’

  Kayla nodded, almost imperceptibly.

  ‘I, um, was thinking about counselling maybe.’

  Kayla tensed.

  ‘Family counselling, this time. Not yet, and only if we all feel—’

  ‘Will Dad go?’

  Jo hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I think so. I hope so. He’s still so weak though.’

  ‘I’ll think about,’ Kayla said, her eyes glued to the mute TV.

  ‘Good.’ Jo nodded, relieved, and got to her feet. She knew Kayla wanted to go with her to the hospital, but Daniel was right, it would do her no good seeing him so weak. Kayla needed to see her father smiling and fighting back, which might prompt Kayla to do the same.

  ‘I’ll see you later.’ She squeezed Kayla’s arm and got to her feet. ‘Around about—’

  ‘If Dad says he’ll go, I’ll think about it,’ Kayla said, her gaze flickering towards Jo’s.

  ****

  Jo found Daniel awake when she visited a few days later, but still subdued, as he’d been on her previous visits.

  That was okay. To be expected. He’d still be in considerable pain and Jo was aware he wasn’t likely to want to go over what had happened yet. Even giving his statement had been an enormous strain, emotionally as well as physically, Jo guessed. But she didn’t want him to slip backwards and close up again, not after confiding so much in her after so long, which must have taken considerable courage.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, settling down in a chair to do small-talk for now. Try to coax him to smile, if nothing else.

  ‘Hi,’ Daniel said, glancing at her, then immediately down and trying to rake a hand still encumbered by tubes through his hair.

  Not a good start, Jo thought, judging by the body-language. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, after several seconds silence.

  Daniel shrugged. ‘Okay, I think. How’s Kayla?’

  Jo took a breath. She’d been stalling up until now, saying she was okay, looking forward to seeing him. ‘Physically she’s fine,’ she started.

  Daniel glanced up sharply. ‘Physically?’

  Jo hesitated. She didn’t want things to get heavy. Now wasn’t the right time. Getting stressed would help no one to heal, particularly Daniel, but she felt she at least had to broach the subject of family counselling. Give him time to consider while he had time on his hands. ‘She’s withdrawn, Dan. Not talking, about what happened, or anything very much.’

  ‘Christ.’ Daniel glanced away

  He kneaded his temple with his free hand. ‘Do you want me to try to talk to her?’

  Jo felt a surge of hope rise in her chest and tentatively took the opportunity to follow through. ‘You could try, but if she won’t even talk to her best friend …’

  Jo let it hang, and then took the bull by the horns. ‘I was hoping we might try counselling again, Dan. Family counselling,’ she added quickly, aware that relationship counselling had been a road to nowhere, ending in Daniel retreating further into himself.

  ‘Dan?’ She pressed him carefully, despite her intention not to. But then she could hardly keep lying about the state of their daughter’s health.

  Daniel nodded half-heartedly. ‘I suppose, but … Do you think it might be a bit soon?’ He glanced uncertainly at her. ‘I mean, shouldn’t we give her more time?’

  A double negative if ever Jo heard one. Time for what, she wanted to ask. For it to eat her up until she’s as dysfunctional emotionally as you were, Daniel? We were? Jo steeled herself. She’d planted the idea. It was Daniel who needed the time now, to consider.

  ‘I’ll get us a drink.’ She changed the subject, Daniel no longer making eye contact suggested she should. She’d been hoping to talk to him about other things. The boatyard, for one, given their current state of no abode and her conversation with Tony, who’d even offered to rent them the house, or let them buy the boatyard back, should they feel able to go back.

  But that could wait too, Jo supposed, until Daniel was strong enough to talk things through properly.

  She smiled and got to her feet. ‘Tea or caffeine?’ she asked, doing her best to keep it light and touch base with him.

  ‘Coffee, thanks,’ Daniel answered distractedly.

  No touchdown then. Jo sighed and headed for the door, Daniel seeming off away in his head somewhere. ‘Back soon.’

  She waited.

  No response.

  ‘What? Oh, yes. Great, thanks,’ Daniel said, as Jo walked out of room.

  ‘Dammit,’ he cursed, dropping his head back on his pillow once she’d left.

  What the hell was the matter with him? Shock, the in-house psychiatrist had said he was suffering from. Full marks for that. Daniel had already surmised that that was why he couldn’t trust his judgement enough to spit out the words going ceaselessly around in his head. Do you want to be with me, Jo? Do you really want any part of a man so messed up as a child he’s an emotional wasteland and doesn’t know how to admit it?

  And if he did manage to ask, and Jo even looked as if she might not want to? He’d be lost, utterly. He didn’t know how to be without his family. He didn’t want to.

  ****

  DI Short walked towards Daniel’s room, his face set in grim determination. He hated delivering bad news and, on a scale of one to ten, this was a bloody disaster.

  He tapped on the open door. ‘Daniel,’ he gave him a small smile and went on in, ‘how are we feeling?’

  ‘Truth?’ Daniel said, pushing his food away. ‘I’ve felt better. Can’t quite remember when, but … Sorry. Licking my wounds, I guess. How are you doing, Detective Inspector?’ He mustered up a smile and offered his hand.

  ‘Mike,’ DI Short said, offering his own hand. And so you should be, Daniel, he thought, feeling desolate for the
man. Good God, was there any justice in the world? Hadn’t Daniel Conner been through enough?

  ‘Mike.’ Daniel shook his hand. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Not pleasure, Daniel, sorry to say.’ DI Short debated whether to sit or stand. Sit, he decided, because he felt as sick as a dog. ‘Business, I’m afraid. I have some, er, news.’

  ‘Bad news I take it?’ Daniel scanned his face. ‘It’s not every day I have a DI sitting on the edge of my bed, whether I know him by Christian name or not.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose it is.’ DI Short smiled briefly. ‘Charlie Roberts,’ he said without further ado, ‘he’s pressing charges, Daniel.’

  ‘What?’ Daniel went deathly pale.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daniel,’ DI Short offered lamely, as the man looked as if a train had just slammed into him. ‘I thought you should know sooner than later. Give you time to sort out your defence. The charges won’t stand, of course. The scumbag hasn’t got a cat in hell’s chance.’

  ‘What charges?’ Daniel said quietly, which threw DI Short. He’d expected outrage, voluble expletives, yet the man seemed … calm?

  ‘GBH with intent,’ DI Short told him as it was, gauging him carefully. ‘Assault with a deadly weapon.’

  Daniel nodded, in the manner of a man discussing something as emotive as the weather. ‘That would be his weapon,’ he said, still calm, but with a look in his eye that was cynical at best, slightly insane at worst, DI Short couldn’t help feeling. A chill ran the length of his spine. Daniel Conner, he suspected, might just be on the verge of a breakdown, God help him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The walls were closing in, inch by suffocating inch. Daniel knew he was losing it, but he couldn’t get past it. No amount of counting would make the psycho’s goading face go away; that flat, evil look in his eye that had Daniel wanting to rip his black heart out, his taunting voice, which Daniel could hear even in his dreams. Oh, man, the bloke’s a fuckin’ basket case. Attacked his own father, did Danny Boy.’

  The nightmare was never going to end. Over and over it played. They were going to dig up evidence of his past and use it against him.