“Ms James?”
When I turn my head, I’m convinced that I’m sweating profusely.
“Yes.” As I stand, I knock over my handbag, and a pen rolls out. “Sorry.” I bend quickly and retrieve the pen, feeling dizzy as my pulse quickens from the embarrassment.
“Not to worry.” A woman in her forties with a kind smile waits patiently for me to regain my composure. “Hi. I’m Eileen Hargrave, the manager of Ivy Lodge. Would you like to follow me? I’ll give you a little tour of Ivy Lodge, then we’ll get on with the interview. Your background is psychiatric nursing, is that right?”
“It is.”
“Did you fancy a change?”
“Yes, well, also, I just moved to the area with my little brother Scott. Ivy Lodge is close to where we live, and it seems like a lovely place.” While the woman is busy opening one of the doors with a pass, I quickly wipe away sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
“How are you finding Clifton?”
“The sea views are beautiful. It’s just what we needed.”
As we walk down a short corridor, I could blink and be back among the Crowmont corridors, walking the hallways to Isabel’s room. The image of her bent over her desk drawing her birds will forever be etched on my mind. Today I drew a crow, Leah. Do you like it? They’re lucky.
No, I won’t indulge those thoughts.
“Have you got family in the area?” Eileen asks.
We arrive in a communal space decorated with lots of reclining armchairs and sofas. A few of the patients are dotted around, playing cards or watching television.
“No,” I reply. I’m cautious, but decide to say it. “Actually, I’ve been placed here with help from a domestic violence charity.” Adam suggested that I use this as an excuse to make it easier when explaining why we’ve moved. People don’t tend to ask any further questions.
“I’m so sorry,” she replies. “Of course, we’ll be very discreet.” Eileen pauses. “I noticed you don’t have an awful lot of administration experience, but your application was excellent. We’ll be throwing you in the deep end with a fundraiser to organise if you do get the job.”
“I’m a quick learner,” I say. “Being trained as a nurse has prepared me for pretty much everything.”
Eileen raises her eyebrows. “I can imagine.”
But no one could imagine what I’ve been through.
CHAPTER FIVE
ISABEL
All that time, you were holding out on me, Leah. You never told me about the hunky farmer, did you? I watched the two of you together, hidden away on the moors, always a safe distance away. And there you were, like two newlyweds, longing gazes aplenty. In love.
I was hurt to see that you’d kept quiet about your private life. All that time, pretending to be my friend, while hiding a huge part of your life from me. Were you ashamed of him? Or didn’t you want to get too close to me? Were you faking it all those months?
My mediocre Leah with a man.
Since then, I’ve had to leave Hutton because you made sure it wasn’t safe for me. I was the fox and the hounds were snapping at my tail, but once I managed to clean myself up, I found a way to get out.
Do you know what it cost me? Do you know that you’ve reduced me to a petty criminal, stealing from people’s bags, hunting through rubbish bins? There comes a point where survival takes over, and it eradicates the person you were before. That happened to me. I almost forgot about you as I was sleeping on the streets, searching for leftovers in a café bin, staying away from any main roads where CCTV might be in operation, climbing over garden walls to take clean clothes from washing lines, walking off the beaten path, hoping I was heading in the right direction to get away from Hutton and the manhunt that surrounds it. I couldn’t go to a train station because of you. Stealing a car was too risky. I had to walk for miles in filthy clothes until I found the next town. It became all I lived for. I walked and I walked until I was close to collapsing, then I found a town. I snuck around that town at night, stealing in the moonlight, and then I walked through fields and forests until I found the next town.
Do you know what else I did? I saved my stolen money. I bought hair dye. I watched people, and I changed the way I walk, talk, stand. And then I bought a box, the kind you use at the post office. I wanted to buy the box rather than use an abandoned box because I didn’t want it to stand out. I wanted my parcel to appear very boring indeed, because I didn’t want anyone to check it.
I went to the post office with my box, and I posted it. Then I went to the bus station, and I bought a ticket and got on the bus. Halfway through the journey, I got off the bus in the middle of nowhere, and then I started walking again.
I walked for a very long time. My heels are hardened now, but back then I had many blisters, and there were points when I walked through fields and forests without shoes on because the pain was excruciating. But I walked and I walked until I found a new town, big enough to disappear into, but small enough to go unnoticed by the police, and then I thought about what his face would look like when he opened the box and saw my present.
Leah, when I next see you, will you tell me what Seb thought of the dead magpie I sent to him? I desperately want to know.
CHAPTER SIX
Today, we start new jobs. Tom is going to the fish and chip shop on the promenade, and I am going to Ivy Lodge. We walk to the bus stop together, and I want to hold his hand and pull him in to me. But he’s sullen and stiff. This new buff version of my son even has a new gait. We don’t fit together like we used to.
“I have an idea,” I say, breaking the silence. We walk down the hill leading into Clifton with the wind coming off the sea. We’re quickly learning that Clifton is almost always windy, but I don’t mind, because I like the fresh air after our cramped conditions in Newcastleton. It brings with it the scent of seaweed and crabs, sand and stone. For the first time since I left the moors, nature is close to me, and I miss Seb so much that my stomach aches for him.
“Well?” Tom avoids my gaze, which does little to assuage the anxiety building up through my body.
“You were right the other day. I think we can do more to protect ourselves in case Isabel does find us. We can’t hide away and assume it will never happen. But, at the same time, we need to be happy. Why don’t we give one of those fitness things a go? You know, like a boot-camp? I don’t know about you, but if Isabel does find us, I want to be able to defend myself. Maybe we could join a self-defence class too? I know I got a little uptight about it last time we tried, but I think I can give it another try.”
We come to a halt by the bus stop, and Tom leans against the post with his hands pushed deeply into his pockets. “I guess we could do that.”
“And we could get a home surveillance system hooked up. I know we have the burglar alarm, but we could get CCTV cameras set up at the front and back doors. That way, we’ll see anyone who comes to the house.”
Tom nods approvingly. “Good idea.” His body relaxes, and his shoulders drop. For the first time in a long time, I reach forward and squeeze his elbow.
“I’m right here. Everything you feel, I feel it too.”
Tom drops his head and half-nods. “I know. I’m just… angry, I guess.”
“We have a new therapist now. I’ve booked us appointments to see her.” The therapist is mandatory for all participants in the witness protection programme. “Scott and Lizzie are going to get better. And they are going to lead normal lives, I bloody swear it.”
He lets out a small laugh, which is music to my ears. Then the bus comes.
There’s hope for us yet, I think, as the bus winds its way through the narrow street into the town. Tom leaves me after a few minutes to get to the chip shop, and I stay on until I come to the stop nearest Ivy Lodge.
Do I still believe in hope? Do I still believe in life? Do I think I’ll have a normal life?
Yes. And no.
I will never stop seeing Isabel’s face in a crowd, seeing h
er pale skinny hand slip away from mine in my nightmares, and I will never stop worrying that when I part from Tom, I’ll never see him again, because I came so close to losing him. The sound of flapping wings will forever send a shiver down my spine, or worse, initiate a panic attack. I’ll forever hate the dark, and I hate to live in a house with an attic or a cellar, and I will walk through hospital corridors and think of Isabel in her room, with her back to me.
But I still believe in hope.
My new job at Ivy Lodge is a learning curve. Rather than administering medication or cleaning bed pans, I have to schedule appointments, show visitors into the home, listen to complaints from family members of the patients. A thin-faced woman called Caroline shows me the ropes and introduces me to the patients in the hospital. All the time, I can’t stop thinking about when my grandma was in hospital following her first heart attack. She looked me squarely in the eye and told me to never grow old, that growing old brought with it more and more pain and little joy. Her words had frightened me, as I was fifteen and afraid of her protruding veins and liver spots. I wondered how I could avoid growing old without dying, and hoped that scientists would invent some sort of youth serum I could take before I reached middle-age.
But age is inevitable, and avoiding it only isolates the most vulnerable. I never shied away from the criminals in my care at the high-security hospitals, so why should I recoil from old age? As I make my way around the home, I meet a woman who asks me why her husband isn’t back with the milk yet, and am mistaken for a younger sister. Another thinks I’m stealing from him. A woman recovering from a hip replacement chats to me as I fetch her a cup of tea, telling me all the places she’s had intercourse around Clifton. Apparently, the beach in midsummer is a prime spot for doggers.
By the end of the day, I’ve met many family members, all of the patients, written a dozen emails and answered the phone without messing up the standard greeting. It’s a small success for an ex-nurse suffering with PTSD. I’ve even discovered my favourite patient. George still has all of his faculties. He’s at Ivy Lodge because of his bad hip and the fact that his daughter is disabled herself and can’t take care of him properly. As I’m tidying up the communal area, he asks me how long I’ve been working at Ivy Lodge.
“Today is my first day.”
“Are you going to stick around? We get a lot of new faces here. I try to remember everyone, but my mind isn’t what it once was.”
I tidy up an abandoned game of Scrabble and remove dirty mugs from the coffee table. “You seem sharp enough to me, George.”
“You should’ve known me fifty years ago!” He chuckles brightly.
“Are you flirting with me, George?”
His chuckle turns into a throaty laugh. “I’ll have you know, I was married for forty years, and I wouldn’t flirt with anyone except my Judy. Not even a pretty young thing like you.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I know you weren’t flirting, really.”
“You’re all right, sweetheart. It’s good to see a smile.”
It’s good to smile, I think to myself.
“Are you comfortable there? Need anything? A nurse?”
“A pint would be nice,” he replies. “A nice trip to the Queen’s Head.” He laughs and then sighs. “No, no. I’m all set for my physio whatsit later.”
“Ahh,” I say. “Are they taking care of that hip of yours?”
He nods. “Yes, I suppose. It’s not like I can shuffle my way out of here. I don’t see how I have much of a choice about the matter, anyway.”
“Oh, it won’t be so bad,” I reassure him. “I’ll tell them to go easy on you.”
“On your first day? The hell you will. Not that they’ll listen to you, anyway.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sticklers, eh?”
He nods. “You a local lass?”
I shake my head. “Just moved here, actually.”
“I didn’t think so. You’ve not got the accent. I’ve lived here my whole life. What do you think of our little town by the sea?”
“I think it’s just what I needed,” I say.
He nods again as though understanding something I don’t understand myself. Then he points towards the hallway leading back to the individual rooms. “Are you busy, Lizzie? Do you have a moment to help me back to my room?”
“I have a few minutes,” I say. “Come on. Let’s go.”
George loops his arm through mine, and we make our way stiffly to his room. He’s quiet as we move, concentrating on moving his legs. Once we’re there, I help him onto the bed, using my nursing experience to get him comfortable.
“You’re a sweet girl,” he says, patting my hand. Then he points across to a display cabinet. “I wanted to show you something. Pass me that photograph, there.”
I step across the room and retrieve the framed photograph on top of the cabinet. The black and white picture shows two children, one girl and one boy.
“Is this you?” I ask, pointing to the adorable boy with a broad grin. I see around the eyes that it’s the man lying in the bed.
“That’s me. And next to me is Abigail, my sister.”
“I can see the resemblance,” I note, observing the same straight nose, wide smile, and close-set eyes.
“We did look alike,” he replies. “I miss her.”
I pass George the photograph, suddenly understanding why it’s a picture of the two of them as children. Did Abigail not get a chance to grow up?
“They say that time heals. But why is it, seventy years later, I still feel the same pain?”
“I’m sorry. What happened to her?”
“It was a fire,” he replies. “Someone set our house on fire, and I never saw Abigail again.”
*
I leave George’s room a little shaken, needing some air, but the charge nurse, Sandra—a bullish woman with a thick neck and ankles—calls me to one side.
“Is everything all right with Mr Hawker?” she asks.
“He’s fine. He was just telling me about his sister. It sounds like a tragic event.”
“You were in there more than ten minutes.” She places her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes, reminding me of an uptight villainess in a Disney movie.
“I’m so sorry. I think time got away from me.”
“It’s fine, Lizzie. But you’re not a nurse. You shouldn’t be spending that much time with the patients. You should be covering reception. We’re short-staffed right now, what with that second temp quitting, and I need you to be where you should be. Okay?”
“Sure. I get it.”
She lets out a long breath, and her shoulders drop. “How’s the first day going? Settling in all right?”
As I tell Sandra about my day, the white walls of Ivy Lodge seem to fade away. Even though my mouth forms words, my mind wanders away as though meandering from a path.
Am I making the same mistakes again? Am I getting too close to a stranger? If I am, is there a reason why I keep repeating this behaviour?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“And the birds?”
“They’re an extension of her. They’re searching for me, just like she is. And in my dreams, their claws always find me. Their wings beat next to my ears, blocking out the sound of my heartbeat, and they peck and peck until there’s nothing of me left. My body is a feast for them to satiate their hunger. Nothing more.”
“Take a deep breath.”
I follow Dr Qamber’s directions, breathing in until my lungs are full.
“Now, breathe out slowly.” She motions with her pen for me to follow. “Good. I felt you were getting a little worked up, there. How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I admit. “Talking about the nightmares is hard. I suppose it’s normal to have nightmares after… Well, you know.”
“It is normal to experience nightmares after trauma, yes. And what about when you’re awake? Is there any anxiety then?”
“Nearly all the time,” I admit.
“Have you experienced any
panic attacks?”
“Yes.”
“Shortness of breath? A sudden increase in heart rate? Constricted chest?”
“Yes. All of those.”
She scribbles in her notebook and nods. “What about the hallucinations you experienced before the attack?”
“It’s hard, sometimes, to figure out what’s real and what isn’t. Especially when I see birds everywhere. But my previous therapist told me to concentrate on the way things interact with the world to try to figure out what’s real and what isn’t. I don’t think I’ve seen anything that isn’t real.”
“Good.” More scribbles. “Is there anything else we need to discuss? You’ve left family and friends behind to come here. You’re caring for your younger brother. You’ve just started a new job. That’s a lot of stressful changes to deal with at the same time.”
“I…” I swallow, pausing to collect my jumbled thoughts and assemble them into something coherent. Behind Dr Qamber’s head is a shelf filled with psychology textbooks. Her office is neat, painted a dark blue, and carpeted with a deep pile that my feet sink into. Dr Qamber herself is put together well, with her black hair pulled into a chignon at the base of her neck. “Before Isabel attacked me and Tom, I had issues sleeping. I would sleepwalk, wake up in strange places, and find that I’d been on my computer. Sometimes, I’d been drinking alcohol. I still don’t quite remember those moments when I was half-conscious. They stopped happening when I began the anti-psychotics. But since I entered the witness protection programme, it’s been happening again.” When I stop talking and stare down at my hands, I find that I’ve gathered the sleeves of my cardigan into my fists.
“Deep breaths.”
I close my eyes and inhale, breathing in the faintest scent of the sea. Perhaps Dr Qamber has a scented candle somewhere.
“We’ll talk through some breathing techniques to help with the anxiety. And”—she hesitates—“perhaps it’s also time to go to your doctor and discuss your medication. I can send over some notes if it might help.”
Two For Joy (Isabel Fielding Book 2) Page 3