by KL Slater
I glanced at my watch; it was three forty-five.
Mum’s pale, clammy face looked waxen and her eyes were half closed. I could see she was in a lot of pain, despite the tablets they’d given her to take the edge off while she waited for her treatment.
I sighed and stood up. Mum had been waiting for over two hours now; it was time to ask some questions of the staff. At that moment, a male nurse appeared and called her name. We helped her into a wheelchair, which I pushed after the nurse, narrowly missing a scarpering toddler’s foot and earning myself a torrent of brusque-sounding words from a large Italian woman.
I smiled graciously and pointed to a sign which informed parents they must supervise their children appropriately.
‘Let’s get her in here,’ the nurse said, indicating a large side room off the main space. He closed the door behind us and a quiet calm instantly settled the charged air. I let out a long breath.
‘I know, crazy out there, isn’t it?’ He grinned. ‘Believe it or not, this isn’t busy. Compared to last week, anyway.’
He sat in front of a computer and tapped at the keyboard. After a couple of seconds, he swivelled round in his chair to face Mum.
‘OK. Anita, isn’t it? I’m Tom. Don’t worry, we’re going to get you sorted out, love.’
Mum looked up forlornly and nodded. I felt a rush of emotion; I wanted to cuddle her close, like I’d do with Evie. ‘Can you tell me what happened to your leg?’
Mum was weary but I let her tell Tom in her own words. She didn’t mention her memory concerns.
Tom began to open various pieces of sterilised equipment. I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was a couple of minutes before four o’clock. I had to say something.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to Tom. ‘I have to go and pick my daughter up from school.’
‘I see.’ He looked at Mum and I followed his stare. She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.
‘That’s OK, isn’t it, Mum?’ I said, alarmed. ‘I’ve got to pick up Evie, remember?’
Mum nodded but didn’t reply. She seemed totally out of it.
‘Is there no way you can stay with your mum?’ Tom pulled a wad of cotton wool out from a packet. ‘I think she really needs you to be here for her.’
I swallowed down a lump in my throat and tugged at the top buttons of my work blouse to let some air in. For a second I felt like bursting into tears myself. I hadn’t got anyone I could call on to help me with Evie, yet I really wanted to be there for Mum. But Evie’s safety was paramount.
And then I remembered.
‘Give me a sec,’ I said, pulling out my phone. ‘I might be able to sort something out.’
52
Three Years Earlier
Toni
I walked outside and called Bryony’s number. Her phone rang but went to voicemail. I tried again and left a message.
‘Hi, Bryony, it’s Toni here. I know it’s ridiculously short notice, but I was calling to see if you could pick Evie up at four thirty? I’m still at A&E with Mum. She’s a bit shaky and I’d rather not leave her unless I have to.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘If you can let me know in the next five minutes, that would be great, otherwise I’ll go and get her, no problem.’
I ended the call and rang the school office at St Saviour’s Primary.
The answerphone picked up right away. ‘The office is now closed . . .’
I thought about leaving a message but decided to end the call. My mind felt fuzzy, clouded by worry about Mum and concern over Evie. It wouldn’t hurt to wait for a few minutes outside, get a few breaths of fresh air and see if Bryony rang back.
The air was fresh and still damp from a recent shower. I looked down at the ill-maintained layer of concrete outside reception that was long overdue for replacement. A cooling breeze fanned my hot face and neck and for a moment I felt like sitting down there and then to gather my thoughts.
I imagined Bryony picking up my phone message and rushing out to her car. I’d been astounded this afternoon that she’d seemed so understanding and, more than that, genuinely helpful. Maybe she was beginning to thaw at long last. Daft as it sounded, sometimes it took a crisis to give people the impetus to get along.
I waited a minute longer and then went back inside. I tapped on the door of the treatment room and walked in.
Tom was talking to Mum in reassuring tones.
‘There you are. Your mum’s been telling me she’s worried about her memory.’ He looked up at me. ‘She’s been forgetting she’s done things and mislaying things.’
‘She hasn’t.’ I shook my head. ‘Only today. She didn’t remember putting her shoes on the stairs, the ones she tripped over. That’s right, isn’t it, Mum?’
‘There are other things,’ Mum said, twisting her fingers around each other. ‘Things that I’ve forgotten but I didn’t want to worry you about.’
‘Like what?’ I glanced at the clock. Five minutes past four and Bryony hadn’t returned my call. I was going to have to leave. ‘Look, I’ve got to go and pick up Evie now. Let’s talk when I come back.’
My breathing had become rapid and shallow.
Tom frowned. I wished Mum hadn’t said anything about her concerns in front of him; he’d only worry her further if he delved into things.
‘I thought I could get someone to pick my daughter up,’ I explained to him. ‘But I can’t get hold of her so I’ve no choice but to go.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Mum said, but her voice shook and she bit down on her lip.
‘Oh, Mum.’ I knelt at her side and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry I’ve got to go. I’ll bring Evie back here and then we can all go home and spend the evening together. OK?’
Mum nodded, her eyes shining.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Tom. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
I walked for what seemed like miles, cursing Mum’s court shoes, which cramped and pinched at my feet. When I’d paid the parking and got through the barrier, I queued at the exit of the hospital campus behind a long line of other vehicles that were waiting to leave.
It was twelve minutes past four by the time I hit the main road.
It was going to be tight to get there for four thirty, but I’d left a message on the school answerphone so they knew I’d be coming.
I felt a little dazed – but pleasantly so, as if the sharp gnaw of anxiety had been curbed. I concentrated extra hard on my driving. I knew that technically I shouldn’t be on the road but I felt fine and it was a while since I’d taken a pill. I felt sure it would be virtually out of my system by now.
Both Mum and Evie needed me and I wouldn’t let them down.
I took a shortcut through the back streets to avoid the busiest parts of town, passing a newsagent where older boys gathered on bikes, eating sweets and shouting to other kids across the road. A group of workmen lingered further along, resplendent in high-vis jackets and hard hats, leaning on their red and white barriers, displaying their paunches to any pedestrian or driver that cared to look.
The tablet I’d taken earlier had afforded me a little welcome separation from reality and I felt I could focus better, instead of being distracted by the million-and-one worries swirling around in my head.
I listened to Smooth Radio, sang along to some old songs that weren’t cool anymore but lifted my spirits. For ten minutes I didn’t have a problem. I drove without hindrance, the traffic moving along slowly but making progress. And then, as I approached Moor Bridge, it ground to a halt.
Two lanes of traffic, trailing all the way back to the bypass.
‘Shit.’ I had eight minutes to get to Evie’s school.
Heart hammering, I pressed my phone screen until I reached the BBC’s traffic updates. There had been an accident near the City hospital, so I had no choice but to sit in the glut of vehicles until I could get to the roundabout and head for Bulwell.
I swung the car into the outside lane to try and get ahead, but soon realised everyone else had h
ad the same idea. This was my only chance of getting to school on time.
It was twenty-five minutes past four and here I was, stuck in gridlocked traffic that showed no sign of moving.
53
Three Years Earlier
DIARY ENTRY
9th September
TIMELINE
Arrival at watch point: 11.00 a.m.
* * *
11.05 a.m.Toni Cotter’s mother leaves for regular shopping trip to Sainsbury’s.
* * *
11.10 a.m.Enter house through unlocked bathroom window.
* * *
11.20 a.m.Complete planned obstacles to facilitate accidental injury.
* * *
11.25 a.m.Leave property.
* * *
Departure from watch point: 11.30 a.m.
* * *
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS
House is tidy and in good order.
Bonus – old woman had left behind her spectacles. These were taken and should assist with objective of causing accidental injury.
Awaiting further instruction.
54
Three Years Earlier
The Teacher
‘Come away from the window please, Evie,’ Harriet Watson said. ‘I told you, it isn’t time to go yet.’
‘The big hand is pointing down to the number six and you said that’s the time I can go home,’ Evie replied.
‘Well, as you can see, it’s not quite there yet,’ Harriet said, sharply. ‘There are at least two more minutes to go.’
There was no doubt about it, this one was a smart little cookie. In Harriet’s opinion, she was far too smart for her own good.
Evie’s face darkened. ‘Where’s Miss Akhtar? She’s my proper teacher.’
Harriet took a step towards her and the child sat down, shrinking back into her chair. ‘I am in charge of these after-school sessions.’ Harriet spoke slowly and precisely. ‘They have nothing at all to do with Miss Akhtar.’
Evie folded her arms and looked away. Harriet moved in front of her and perched on the edge of the desk. ‘You know your mummy’s worried about you, don’t you?’
The child looked up at her and frowned. ‘No,’ she said.
‘No, Miss Watson,’ Harriet corrected her. ‘Your mummy told me she’s very worried about you and so is your nanny. They’re both concerned that you’re being a naughty girl at St Saviour’s.’
‘I’m not!’ Evie’s eyes grew wide and her bottom lip wobbled. ‘I’m not being a naughty girl.’
‘You know that and I know that, too, Evie,’ Harriet said smoothly. ‘But others do not. I want to tell your mummy you’re being a good girl, I really do. But . . .’
The child looked at her with shining eyes.
‘Between you and me, it’s Miss Akhtar who thinks you’re a bad girl.’
‘I’m not.’ A tear rolled down Evie’s ruddy cheek. ‘I’m not bad.’
‘I know that, Evie,’ Harriet said, appropriating a kind tone. ‘And I’ve told her that when you’re with me, you’re very well behaved. Which you are, aren’t you?’
Evie gave a faint nod but didn’t seem entirely convinced of it herself. The child wiped away the tears defiantly with the cuff of her school sweatshirt.
Evie had complained, this session, about every single thing she’d been asked to do. She’d refused to draw and had snapped two wax crayons on purpose. She had constantly yawned and counted her fingers while Harriet tried to read with her. And for the last ten minutes she’d barely interacted at all. Her eyes had been glued to the clock.
‘You see, if Miss Akhtar reports you to the head teacher, you won’t be able to come here anymore, Evie. They’ll send you to the place for naughty children.’
Evie’s eyes grew wide and fearful. ‘Where is it, the naughty place?’
‘It’s miles away,’ Harriet told her. ‘You might even have to live there, away from your mummy and nanny, away from me.’
The child burst into tears.
‘Come on now, wipe your eyes.’ Harriet handed her a tissue, looking with distaste at the child’s tear-streaked cheeks and snotty nose. ‘I’ll tell them you’re not to be sent to the naughty school. If you want me to, that is? If you would rather stay here with me?’
Evie sniffed, wiped her nose and nodded, never taking her eyes from Harriet’s.
‘At least, that’s what I want to tell them. But first, you have to make me a promise that you mustn’t tell Mummy or Nanny about our little chat. Can you do that?’
Evie nodded.
‘You mustn’t tell them anything about the school for naughty children. Do you promise me?’
‘Yes,’ the child said in a silly, mardy voice. ‘Is it like the one Matilda went to, with Miss Trunchbull?’
Harriet sighed. This was the trouble with children today. Too much television and cinema nonsense, instead of useful lessons that would prepare them for the harsh realities of the outside world.
‘Matilda is just a silly story, it isn’t real.’ Harriet gingerly nipped the corner of Evie’s tissue with her fingertips and threw it into the bin. ‘I expect your mummy gets rather annoyed with you sometimes, doesn’t she?’
Evie nodded and her eyes glittered.
‘You mustn’t cry again, is that clear?’
Evie nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘What does Mummy say to you, when she’s angry?’
Evie thought for a moment. ‘She says I have to come to school.’
Harriet nodded. ‘And she’s right. It’s the law that you have to come to school. If you don’t, a policeman might visit the house.’
Evie’s chin wrinkled as she chewed on her bottom lip. She knew this was true because her mummy had said as much.
‘And tell me, when Mummy gets angry, does she take her tablets?’
Evie frowned and shook her head.
‘I mean the tablets that make her go to sleep.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Evie said brightly, understanding. ‘They’re in the bathroom cabinet, up where I can’t reach without a chair. She goes to sleep for ages. Sometimes I get hungry and bored.’
‘I expect you do.’ Harriet smiled. ‘And it’s hard to wake Mummy, isn’t it, when she falls fast asleep in the daytime?’
Evie nodded. ‘I have to do this.’ The child mimed shaking something aggressively. ‘And I have to shout “MUMMMMYYY”.’
Her yell ricocheted around the empty library space.
‘Hush,’ Harriet hissed, glancing at the door. The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of Mr Bryce, the bumbling, interfering old caretaker who refused to retire. ‘There’s no need for that racket.’
Evie looked at the floor.
‘As I was saying, the only other school around here is the place the bad children go. There are big boys there who will kick your shins in class,’ Harriet said. ‘So you must stop saying you don’t want to come to St Saviour’s. Do you understand, Evie?’
‘Yes,’ Evie said meekly. ‘I won’t say it anymore.’
‘That’s good. And you mustn’t tell anyone what we’ve talked about. You won’t have to go there, if you do what I say. Am I making myself clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes, Miss Watson,’ Harriet directed her.
‘Yes, Miss Watson.’
‘Very well.’ Harriet smiled. ‘So, I want you to tell Mummy you’ve had a good day at school and that Miss Watson is very pleased with you. Which I am.’
Evie nodded and the ghost of a smile skittered across her lips.
‘Heavens!’ Harriet glanced at the clock. It was a full ten minutes after finishing time. ‘Your mummy is rather late. Stay here while I go and check to see if she’s waiting out in reception.’
55
Three Years Earlier
Toni
I called the school at least six times, hoping that someone would be passing the office and might pick up, but each time it went straight to the answerphone.
I’d left one message earlier, sayin
g I might be a little late . . . At least, I thought I had, but now I wasn’t entirely sure.
Scenes slid through my mind like a super-fast slideshow: Mum sitting alone in the waiting room; Nurse Tom’s disapproving face; Mum falling down the stairs; me calling the school and leaving a message.
Some bits of it didn’t feel right, all mixed up and in the wrong order.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the line of stationary traffic in front of me and tried to think. I’d called Bryony’s mobile a couple more times but now it just went straight to answerphone. I didn’t have Dale’s mobile number in my phone contacts. I’d called the shop but nobody had picked up, which meant Jo was probably busy with customers.
Then I remembered Jo had sent me a text last week. She’d asked me for my number so she could share a silly joke that was currently doing the rounds. I found the text and called her. It rang but went to voicemail. I fired off a text and swallowed down the cloying lump in my throat.
‘Jo, it’s Toni. Got an emergency. Stuck in traffic can’t get to Evie. Could you pick her up ASAP? St Saviour’s Primary. Sorry to ask x’
I couldn’t work out why Harriet Watson hadn’t called me; I was now nearly twenty minutes late. Then I realised, with a sinking feeling, that I hadn’t yet completed the parental contact details form that had been in Evie’s admission pack.
She had brought home a second one too; I’d found it tucked inside her book bag on her first day at school with a note from the administrator asking me to fill it in as soon as I could. The school didn’t have my mobile telephone number.