by C. L. Taylor
She doesn’t comment; instead she nods for me to continue.
“Could I . . .” I pause, unsure whether I can bring myself to ask the question that has been haunting me since my second blackout.
“What is it, Claire?”
“When I . . . when I came around the second time, I had a vision of Billy lying on the hood of my car. He was dead. I thought I’d run him over but I couldn’t have. The windscreen wasn’t shattered, the car wasn’t damaged and there wasn’t . . .” I swallow. “. . . there wasn’t any blood.”
“And you’re worried you may have had something to do with Billy’s disappearance? You think you may have done something you can’t remember?”
I press my fingernails into my palms to stop myself from crying and nod sharply.
“Claire,” Sonia says softly. “You were at your mum and dad’s house when Billy went missing.”
“But what if I had a blackout that I don’t remember? What if I drove back to my house and ran Billy over?”
“Why would you do that?”
“I wouldn’t.” I shake my head. “I’d never hurt him. Ever.”
“Was your car damaged the day after he disappeared? Did you have to take it to a garage to get the windscreen repaired?”
“No, I . . . I drove to work and then back home at the end of the day.”
“I think,” Sonia presses the palms of her hands together, “that the vision you had when you transitioned out of your fugue was more akin to a nightmare induced by feelings of guilt.”
“For going to mum and dad’s the night Billy disappeared?”
She nods. “I think the dream also manifests your worst fear.”
“That Billy’s dead? No. He’s still alive, I’m sure of it.”
“Okay.” She looks at me thoughtfully then leans back in her chair for the first time since I started speaking. “In a minute we’re going to do a few exercises to help you manage your anxiety but before we do I need to reassure you that what you experienced, what you felt and what you’re still feeling as a result of your fugues is completely normal. And that the violent thoughts you’ve suffered are also normal.”
Normal.
The relief I feel is so sudden, so intense, that I burst into tears.
“Are you all right to continue?” Sonia asks as the tears abate and I slump back against the sofa, totally spent.
I nod. It takes every last ounce of energy that I have.
“What made you cry, just then?”
“Relief that I haven’t turned into some kind of psychopath.”
She smiles sympathetically. “You’re not a psychopath, Claire. I’m ninety-nine percent sure of that.”
I close my eyes and take a deep, settling breath. As I do so an image of Billy, lying on his bed with his headphones jammed onto his ears and his laptop on the bed beside him, pops into my head. He looks up, as though suddenly realizing I’m at the door, then winks. “Only ninety-nine percent, Mum? So that means there’s still a one percent chance you are a psychopath.”
My smile must have registered on my face because, when I open my eyes again, Sonia is looking at me curiously.
“What were you thinking about, Claire? Just then, when you closed your eyes?”
“About Billy. I was just imagining what he’d say if . . .” I trail off. Moments like that—happy thoughts that break up the unrelenting gloom—I need to hug them to my chest and hold them close. Sharing the image of Billy with Sonia would only dilute it.
“It’s okay.” She smiles reassuringly. “You don’t have to share what you were thinking about if you don’t want to. Now”—she crosses her legs and sits back in her chair—“I’d like to move on from the amnesia if you’re feeling strong enough, and talk to you about the development that DS Forbes shared with you the other day.”
“You want to talk to me about what Jason Davies said?”
“Yes.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Only this time Billy is nowhere to be seen.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Jackdaw44: Is it wrong that I want you to kiss me again?
Chapter 31
I have no idea if my session with Sonia was effective or not. I haven’t had another amnesia attack since I saw her six days ago but I still have terrible dreams. I dream that I’m driving around Bristol, looking for Billy, and then I see him—he’s at the end of the road, baseball cap jammed onto his head, shoulders hunched against the driving wind and rain. There’s a van, four cars in front of me, and it’s going slowly, so slowly and I’m swearing at the driver to put his foot on the gas so I can get to my son before he disappears. Then the van stops. The passenger door opens and Billy gets in. I scream and pull at my door but it’s jammed shut and I can’t get out. The van drives off and I can’t stop screaming.
Sleep deprivation has wiped my memories of the last six days. People have come and gone. Mum, Dad, Liz. There’ve been hugs, lots of hugs. And countless cups of tea. The days have run into each other as we all try and come to terms with what DS Forbes told us about Jason Davies. On a couple of occasions I’ve grabbed my car keys intending to go out and look for Billy, only to put them down again seconds later, unable to breathe.
Mark went back to work the day after my session with Sonia.
“I’ll stay,” he said after the alarm bleeped and he reached out a lazy arm to turn it off. “Claire, I’ll stay if you need me to.”
I shook my head. He’d spent all of the day before pacing the house like a caged animal, settling for minutes in front of the TV and then up again, into the kitchen for a cup of tea, then out to the garage, then back in again. He spent a lot of time standing by the window, looking out at the park opposite our house. He reminded me of one of the tigers in Bristol Zoo, stalking back and forth along the same patch of worn grass, eyeing the visitors beyond the glass wall. He could see what freedom looked like but he had no means of escape.
“No,” I said. “You need to go to work. I’ll be fine. Jake will keep me company.”
“If you’re sure?” I could hear the conflict in his voice as he reached out his arms and pulled me close. I pressed my face into his hairless chest and inhaled his warm, sleepy, musky scent. “Is Jake taking another day off then?”
“Yeah. He told me last night that he couldn’t face going to work.”
“I’m worried about him. He spent all of yesterday in his room.”
“We’ll go out. Take a walk.”
He stroked the hair back from my face and kissed me on the forehead. “I think it’ll do you both good to get some fresh air.”
We never did go for that walk. When I knocked on Jake’s door he said he had a headache and maybe we’d go later. I rang Mum and we drove out to Chew Magna and walked around the lake together. She didn’t mention the website, the appeal or the photos. Instead we held hands and we talked about Dad and his bridge games and the weather and the woman in the corner shop whose husband had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Then Mum told me how worried she was about me.
I told her I’d started seeing a counselor again but I didn’t mention the amnesia. She squeezed my hand tightly and it struck me, not for the first time, how hard this must be for her and Dad. I am their child, Billy is their grandchild. They must feel the same sense of powerlessness that I feel. That’s why Mum works so hard on the website. It’s her way of helping, of showing she cares.
When I returned home just after eleven Jake was still in his room. At twelve I knocked on his door and offered him some lunch. He said he wasn’t hungry. At tea time he asked if he and Kira could eat their meals in their room. Mark and I ate our steak, chips and peas in front of the TV. I can’t even remember if it was on.
The next day I had a call from Ian, Jake’s boss. He asked if Jake was over his stomach bug yet. I deliberated before answering, unsure whether to lie and say he was still ill or tell him that we’d had some bad news. Ian knows about Billy; Jake had only been working there for a few months when he vanishe
d but I couldn’t tell him the real reason Jake was off work. We weren’t allowed to tell anyone outside our immediate family about Jason Davies. Ian didn’t ask any questions when I said Jake was having a difficult time at the moment but he did agree to let him have a few more days off. I was grateful when he said goodbye.
This morning he rang back. Could I let him know whether Jake would be back at work some time this week as they had a big job planned and he needed to know whether or not to get someone else in? I asked him to hold on, then knocked on Jake’s door. He opened it seconds later, in the same faded pair of boxer shorts he’s been wearing for days, his eyes bleary, his jawline covered in stubble. Behind him, on the opposite side of the room, the curtains were still shut, the only light the blue haze of his laptop screen, the lid half-closed.
“Ian wants to know when you’re going back to work.”
“Huh?”
“Ian. Your boss. He’s got a big job on. He needs to know when you’re going back or he’s going to have to get someone else in.”
Jake shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You’ll lose your job if you don’t go back soon, Jake.”
“Who cares?”
“You do. You love your job.”
“None of that shit matters anymore.”
“Jake!”
“Mum”—he rubbed a hand over his face—“I can’t deal with this right now. Can you tell him I’ll ring him back?”
He closed the door before I could reply. I stared at the knotted wood, grubby with semicircular gray patches—the remains of stickers he’d plastered on the door as a kid—and raised a fist to knock again, then remembered I’d left Ian hanging on the line and bolted back down the stairs.
“Hi, Ian. Is it okay if Jake rings you back this evening?”
He sighed. “I like Jake. And I know he’s got a lot of family stuff to deal with but I need to have a team I can rely on. If he doesn’t call me in the next couple of hours I’m going to have to get someone else in. I’m sorry, Claire. Business is business.”
I can’t help to find Billy but I can still look after one of my sons. I can still help Jake.
Chapter 32
It’s almost impossible to find a parking space near the Bristol School of Art so I park at Trenchard Street car park and walk from there. Maybe Kira is the wrong person to talk to about Jake. Perhaps I should talk to a doctor instead. I watched as Liz slipped into a depression after Lloyd left her in January and I can see the same symptoms in Jake. He’s irritable, he’s got no energy, he doesn’t show any interest in the things he used to enjoy and he spends all his time in his room. But antidepressants take weeks to kick in and he’ll get worse if he loses his job too. He was so proud when he was offered his apprenticeship, so full of dreams about starting up his own business and getting a place for him and Kira. She knows him better than any of us. If anyone can talk him into ringing his boss, she can.
I glance at my watch as I approach the large brown front door of the Bristol School of Art: 1:03 p.m. It’s Monday, Kira’s favorite day of the week because she only has a half-day.
Student after student files out of the building. None of them pays me, a frazzled-looking woman in her early forties in a pair of skinny jeans and a white shirt, the slightest bit of attention. As the crowd starts to thin so does my hope of running into Kira. What if she’s decided to stay to work on her project?
I jump back as a truck thunders down the road, its huge wheels splashing through last night’s rainfall, and a flash of pink catches the corner of my eye.
“Kira!” I speed after her as she hurries down toward the Triangle. “Kira, hang on a sec. I need to talk to you.”
She stops in her tracks and turns slowly, weighed down by the camera bag over her shoulder and the large, black portfolio dangling from her right hand.
“Claire?” She looks shocked. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you about Jake. Could we grab a coffee?”
Kira pours hot water into the stainless-steel teapot, then dips a spoon into it and stirs. Her cheeks flush when she realizes I’m watching her.
“I love vintage stuff like this. I would have loved to have been alive in the forties or fifties. Life was so glamorous back then.” She closes the lid of the teapot. “Is Jake okay?”
I take a sip of my coffee. It’s piping hot and I burn my lips. “Has he said anything to you, about what DS Forbes told us?”
“Not really. But I know he’s angry. He feels guilty too.”
“Guilty? Why?”
“He thinks he should have protected Billy. He thinks he’s dead because of him.”
“He thinks Billy is dead?”
“I keep telling him that he’s not. He’s alive. I need to believe that, almost as much as you do.” Her fingers twitch on the tabletop and she glances away, toward the window and the busy street beyond the café. She’s thinking about her dad. He died a couple of years ago. Cancer, I think Jake said.
“Sorry, Kira. I know this is hard for you too.”
“Mmm.” She presses her lips together.
I unzip my handbag and push a tissue across the table toward her. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She dabs underneath her eyes, then takes a deep breath. “I just wish . . . I wish none of this had happened. You’re such a lovely family and you’ve been so kind to me and it kills me to see you all so unhappy. It’s been awful watching Jake tear himself apart after Billy disappeared. Recently I felt like he was getting better. He was enjoying work and going out with his mates again but then the appeal brought everything back and—”
“DS Forbes turned up.”
“Yeah. I feel so awful for him but there’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say . . .” Fresh tears take the place of the ones that have dried on her cheeks. “Do you ever wish you could run away, Claire?”
I think back to my conversation with Sonia, when she told me that my first fugue was my subconscious trying to run away from all the stress in my life. Kira might be nineteen but she’s already gone through so much—dead father, alcoholic mother and now this. She’s shouldering the weight of Jake’s grief and I’ve been so burdened by my own pain I haven’t considered that she might be suffering too.
“Maybe what you and Jake need is to get away for the weekend? Book a hotel, go to Bath or Weston for—”
She shakes her head.
“Okay, maybe not. Too close to home.” I force a smile. “How about South Wales? Dad knows someone with a cottage there. I’m sure he’d do mates rates. I’ll tell Jake not to give me any rent money this week. We can manage without it. What do you think? You both need a break.”
“I’m not sure Jake would come. I can’t even get him out of bed in the morning.”
“That’s because he’s got nothing to look forward to but he’d do anything for you, Kira. You’re his whole world. You know that, don’t you?”
She nods dumbly, tears still glistening in her eyes.
“I want you two to be happy. I want you to get your own little flat and have some independence. That’s why I came to meet you. Jake’s boss was on the phone earlier. If he doesn’t ring him this afternoon he’s going to lose his job. If we can convince Jake to go in, just for a couple of days, then he can go away with you. It’ll give him something to look forward to. What do you think?”
She reaches for the teapot and flips back the lid. She closes it again, trapping the wisp of steam that attempts to escape. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to make a decision now. Have a think about it on the way home.”
“Okay.” She looks back up at me. “If you think it’ll help him I’ll ask.”
A wave of relief surges through me. “I think it will. Are you going to drink that?” I point at the tea. “Or shall we just go?”
“Go.” She nods decisively. “Before I lose my nerve.”
We are halfway out of the door of the café when a crowd of teenagers surges up the pavement and forces us to step bac
k.
“Sorry, sorry.” A harassed-looking blonde shoots me an apologetic look, then does a double-take. “It’s you, isn’t it? Mrs. Wilkinson, Billy’s mum?”
It takes me a couple of seconds to place her face.
“Miss Christian?”
“Yes.” As she holds out a hand, half a dozen silver bracelets jangle around her wrist. “I saw the appeal on TV a few weeks ago. Has there been any news?”
“No,” I say before Kira can interject. “Unfortunately not.”
“Rosie!” Miss Christian releases my hands and waves at a woman further up the street. “I’ll catch up with you. Okay?”
I don’t recognize Rosie but, from the way the teenagers congregate around her, she’s obviously a teacher. I don’t remember her from any of Billy’s parents’ evenings. She must be new.
“We’re taking them to the open day at the School of Art,” Edie says, as though reading my thoughts. “I’m pretty sure half the kids here aren’t the slightest bit interested but it’s a few hours away from school and . . .” She shrugs.
I scan the faces of the pupils surrounding Rosie but don’t recognize any of them. One boy whispers something in another boy’s ear. He’s rewarded with a laugh and a punch to the shoulder. That’s what Billy should be doing now, messing around with his mates, telling jokes and winding them up. Where is he? whispers a voice in my head. Where is he?
“Billy was a very talented artist,” Edie Christian says, drowning out the voice.
Is, I want to say. Billy is a very talented artist. But it’s as though someone has placed a band around my chest that’s stopping me from speaking.
Edie’s gaze falls on Kira. “Kira Simmons! My gosh, I haven’t seen you since . . .”
“I left school three years ago,” Kira says. “I’m doing photography up there.” She gestures toward her college.
“Yes, of course. Your GCSE project was about sports, wasn’t it? BMXers and skateboarders?”
“Sort of. It was about perseverance.”
“That’s right. Lots of images of scraped knees and jubilant air punches if I remember correctly.”