Fractured

by Barker, Dawn

  This time, she didn’t cry. She waited until she was told to stand up from the wheelchair and lie down on a bed. Someone then pushed her through the doors into a small corridor, and into ‘Theatre 1’, according to the sign on the door. There were another three people in here, wearing those same blue scrubs. They didn’t wear hats or masks. The bed stopped under a huge light that a man with stubble switched on and moved until it pointed at her right hand. He was smiling as he talked to her, but she didn’t listen to what he said. He was going to do whatever he wanted anyway.

  She clenched her teeth and looked away as the man put a needle in the back of her right hand and fiddled around with tubes and tape. A woman attached a plastic clip to her left index finger and switched on another monitor. Her forehead stung as someone scrubbed it with small, square, cold alcohol wipes, then pushed hard to stick wires above her eyebrows and behind her ears. A strand of her hair was caught and pulled at her scalp, but she didn’t bother saying anything.

  Tired now, she wanted to close her eyes. Someone told her it would be over in five minutes, and something cold swept up her right hand into her arm. She had no energy to fight. She was dizzy, and felt as if she was swaying even though she was lying down. Something was being held over her face. She gasped, she couldn’t breathe, her throat was closing. She tried to turn her head away, then to lift her arms to push it away, and to kick for the surface, but it was too late. It all went dark.

  * * *

  Her head pounded. Her mouth was dry, and she tasted metal. She moved her eyes to look around her; where was she? Her vision was blurry, and it was hard to focus on anything. Voices around her got louder and softer, louder and softer, and there was a ringing somewhere behind her. She tried to sit up; she couldn’t breathe. Someone held her down.

  ‘Where am I? Where’s my baby? I need to see him.’

  She felt bony fingers gripping her arms. She writhed and struggled, then fell back onto the bed. She remembered now and started to cry. They had taken Jack away from her, left her alone, unable to move, and taken him. Tony had left too. They had all walked out and left her.

  She was alone.

  Someone was leaning over her now, near her mouth. She wanted a toothbrush.

  And then she was sitting up, back in her hospital room, and that nurse, Rachel, was there. Anna accepted a cup of lukewarm sweet tea and gulped it down. There were two pieces of thin white toast on the bedside table; she quickly ate them, even though they were cold. Reaching up she felt a sticky residue on her forehead, and a cold slime in her hair near her temple. She pulled some tissues from the box near her bed and wiped off as much as she could. Her hair felt greasy and limp. She looked towards the small bathroom, pushed back the sheets and tried to swing her legs out of the bed. Her head throbbed and a wave of dizziness flooded through her. She groaned, and the nurse was there, pulling the sheets over her again. Anna lay back, and heard the hum of the bed as it slid flat. She rolled over onto her side, curled up, then fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Four days after

  Friday, 18 September 2009

  Tony waited in the hospital car park with the engine running. His left hand rested on the gearstick, threatening to push it into drive and head back home. He looked at the clock on the dashboard: it was 9.45 a.m., Anna would be back in the ward in fifteen minutes.

  He’d woken at 4 a.m., and almost came straight to the hospital then so he could be with Anna when she went for her first ECT session, but he had lain in bed until he convinced himself that it was too late, or that he’d only get in the way. Anyway, he didn’t know what he’d say or do when he saw her. He didn’t really want to be here now either, but staying away would cause more problems, lead to more questions, more speculation. He knew that Anna needed him. And more importantly, he needed to talk to her.

  Turning off the engine, he got out of the car before he could stop himself. He turned away from the psychiatric block and made his way towards the main hospital building.

  There was a queue to order at the cafeteria. The two elderly women behind the counter bustled around while staff in white coats and blue scrubs looked at their pagers and mobile phones, and visitors sighed and shuffled their feet. When he reached the front, Tony took a copy of the Herald from the pile on the counter and ordered a flat white. He usually bought his morning coffee and paper from the stand at the bottom of his office building; it seemed important to keep up that routine. He paid, then sat down at a small round table near the counter to wait for his coffee. Out of habit, he spread the paper out, scanning the headlines. Suddenly, he stopped. His heart started pounding. He quickly looked around him, then back down at the paper, to the left-hand column of page five. There it was.

  BABY DEAD. MOTHER IN PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL.

  Underneath the bold headline were two short paragraphs, but he could no longer see properly to read them.

  He screwed his eyes shut until the stinging stopped, then opened them and tried to focus on the print again. He couldn’t believe it was in the paper, a story that thousands of people would be reading, people just like he was a week ago. They would read it aloud to their husbands or wives or workmates, then turn the page and forget about it. But this was his life, his wife, his baby. Who the hell wrote this stuff? What did they know about anything? Two bare paragraphs, as if what had happened to Jack was just another story. If they were going to print it, couldn’t they at least try to explain what had happened? People would jump to conclusions now; how could they not with that headline? The pages of the paper rustled in his trembling hands. He looked up, expecting to see people watching him, but no one was. He closed the paper again, folded it in half then stood up. The old ladies were still busy. He put his head down and walked out, leaving the newspaper on the table.

  Before he could change his mind, he followed the path through the grounds and around the car park to the psychiatric building. From the front it was a generic concrete block rendered grey, just like the rest of the hospital. As he got closer, he noticed a group of people standing near the front entrance smoking, but not talking to each other. One burly guy stood slightly apart from all the rest. He was less dishevelled and had a bunch of keys attached to his belt.

  Tony held his breath and hurried past them all into the building. He introduced himself to the receptionist, then waited a few moments until the security door opened. A young female nurse greeted him and smiled. She wore jeans and a blue t-shirt, and had a black radio clipped to her waistband on one side, and a conspicuous alarm button on her other hip. She swaggered off in front of him. He followed her down the corridor, wishing he could turn around and walk straight back out.

  The door to Anna’s room was open. Tony stopped beside the nurse. He needed a moment to gather himself so he didn’t break down. Then he turned and looked at his wife. Anna sat on a chair in the corner of the room hugging her knees while she gazed out of the window. She was in her pyjamas, but her feet were bare. Tony wanted to run over to her and put his hands on her toes to warm them. It was cold. Why didn’t she have her slippers on? He’d put them in the bag. He held himself back. He needed to stay in control of himself.

  She looked thin. The skin on her face sagged, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of her. Why hadn’t he noticed that at home? A bag of clear fluid on the stand next to her dripped into a tube that was connected to her hand. He made himself walk forward into the room, but Anna didn’t look up. She was watching a bird pecking at the pale grass sprouting up between the pavers in the courtyard. He took a step back again, then knocked on the open door. Anna started, looked at him, then smiled, just for a second. He tried to smile back but knew that he had hesitated too long. It was too late, she had seen through it. He saw the confusion in her eyes, and the flush in her cheeks. He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned back to the window. He knew he should go to her, hug her, but something stopped him. He tried hard not to cry.

  He walked further into the room, then sat
on the bed, just behind her chair.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you?’ It was a stupid question. Anna didn’t reply. He raised his hand, and it hovered just behind her, then he let it drop back onto the bed. ‘Anna. I need to talk to you.’

  She turned back to face him again. Her eyes were wide and watery. He reached out and touched her face softly. It felt hot. She moved her head ever so slightly, breaking contact with his hand, then looked down, blinking hard.

  Tony put his hand back in his lap then linked his fingers, hoping that they’d stop trembling. ‘How are you feeling?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice was thin, hollow. ‘I don’t … don’t understand.’

  ‘Me neither.’ He knew that she hadn’t mentioned Jack to Wendy when she visited yesterday. Did she know? ‘What don’t you understand?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where do you think you are? What do you think has happened?’

  ‘I don’t know! I can’t remember!’ She was crying now.

  He stopped himself from reaching for her. If he touched her, he didn’t know whether he’d hold her or throttle her.

  ‘You’re sick, you’ve been sick, I know that and I’m so, so sorry. But why? Why did you do it? I can’t stop thinking about it … Why? Why the hell didn’t you listen to me?’ He stood up and walked around in front of Anna’s chair, then kneeled down before her. This wasn’t what he’d planned to say. He stared at Anna: her eyes and nose were streaming but she made no effort to wipe them. ‘Oh Anna, I told you to take it easy, I told you to see the doctor. Did you tell the doctor how you were feeling? Why didn’t you tell me? I told you Mum was coming —’

  ‘Stop, Tony! Please!’ She dropped her chin to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees.

  He put his hands on the back of her head as she started to rock forward and back. He stroked the nape of her neck until she stopped moving, then he tried to lift her head. She allowed him to do this, but kept her eyes closed. She was silent, still.

  ‘Anna, tell me why!’ Tears continued to roll down her cheeks, but no other part of her moved. Tony stood up and staggered: his legs tingled from crouching.

  ‘Look at me!’ He picked up the pillow from the bed and slammed it back down, as if the noise could startle her, focus her attention. ‘Answer me! You could have told me, you could have stopped this!’

  He heard a knock at the door and turned around to see the nurse standing there with her head tipped to the side and a concerned look. ‘Is everything OK?’ she said.

  Tony shook his head and walked towards the door without a word. Of course it wasn’t OK. He wanted to tell the nurse to leave them alone, to let him talk to his wife, but he didn’t really know if he wanted to hear what Anna had to say. Part of him was glad for the excuse to walk out of this room and leave her.

  As he went through the doorway, he thought he heard Anna call his name, very quietly. He looked back but she hadn’t moved. He turned away and kept going, walking down the corridor towards the heavy locked door that he had entered by. A woman was standing there, smiling at him, and Tony moved faster so that she could unlock the door for him. She was wearing a black dress and heels. She kept smiling as he approached and Tony realised she was waiting for him. He put his head down, hoping she would take the hint and let him out.

  ‘Mr Patton?’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘I’m Dr Morgan, Anna’s psychiatrist. I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’

  Tony raised his eyebrows. Somehow he had expected that she would be older. ‘Oh, Dr Morgan … I know, I’m sorry, I …’

  ‘I’d really like to talk to you to get some information.’ She was still smiling.

  He sighed. He just wanted to get as far away from here as possible. ‘Yeah, of course, I’m just —’

  ‘How about now? It won’t take long.’ She was looking him straight in the eyes.

  He sighed in resignation: he had managed to avoid the psychiatrist all week, but couldn’t keep putting it off. ‘I suppose …’

  ‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘I’ll just get my bag. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air.’

  * * *

  Anna kept her eyes closed until she heard Tony’s footsteps disappear down the corridor. Then she opened them again, wiped her nose with her sleeve, and slowly looked around, hoping that she had been mistaken and he would still be standing there. He wasn’t. Someone else was coming back, but she knew the steps weren’t his. It was the nurse.

  ‘Anna,’ she said quietly, standing at the door. ‘Are you all right?’

  Anna nodded. She couldn’t look up; she didn’t trust herself. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. But the nurse came into the room and closed the door behind her. She pulled the other chair over from near the door to sit close to Anna, and she looked out the window too.

  ‘Was that your husband?’

  Anna nodded again.

  ‘What did he say?’

  She shook her head. Anna had never seen Tony so upset. What was he talking about? She didn’t know what had happened, nothing made sense. Her head throbbed. ‘What have I done?’ She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

  The nurse didn’t answer. She passed Anna a box of tissues then waited until she had started to calm down. ‘I’ll ask Dr Morgan to come and see you.’

  Anna turned away and blew her nose. What was the point of talking to Dr Morgan? She couldn’t concentrate, there were too many thoughts rushing around in her head. She felt light-headed, and shivered, even though she was so, so hot. There was an ache in her chest, so tight, so heavy. She didn’t know what to believe, what was real, any more.

  If her own husband couldn’t stand to be around her then the voices were right and she was a terrible person after all.

  * * *

  Tony followed Dr Morgan outside, and around to the back of the psychiatric building. The sweet, green smell of grass swirled around his face as he inhaled, making his jaw and palate itch. There was an earthy, pungent odour too, fertiliser maybe. The path led them further away from the hospital to a grassy area with trees stretching out around the perimeter. Here, Tony could almost forget that the hospital existed.

  ‘A few people come here to eat their lunch, but it’s usually quiet.’ Dr Morgan stopped at a wooden bench with a brass plaque on the back of it. ‘It’s nice to get out of the ward for a while.’

  He sat down at one end of the bench, in the shade of a large fig tree. Dr Morgan sat at the other end and put her bag down on the ground. Tony was glad that she couldn’t look directly at his face: he knew that it wouldn’t take much for him to break down. He was scared; a psychiatrist should understand Anna, and that frightened him more than the intimidation of the police. What if she confirmed what he couldn’t bear to believe, that Anna was capable of killing Jack? He pursed his lips and breathed out slowly.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Dr Morgan asked.

  He gave a wry smile. ‘Not great.’

  ‘I can only imagine how difficult this is for you.’

  His eyes were burning again. He looked to his left, away from her.

  ‘Tony, you don’t have to talk to me about Anna, or Jack, if you don’t feel ready.’

  His hands began to tremble. He stared into the distance. ‘It’s like I’m stuck in a nightmare.’ Dr Morgan waited. ‘She always wanted to have kids. And now this happens … She – she loved him so much …’

  Dr Morgan leaned forward. ‘I wish I could say that I understood how you feel, but I don’t think anyone can. It must be terrible, and very confusing for you.’

  ‘I just don’t understand what happened. One minute they were at home, and then … they’re gone. Well, Jack’s gone.’

  ‘It probably feels like Anna’s gone too.’

  He nodded. He scratched the back of his neck. ‘All I thought I’d have to worry about when we had kids was not being able to go out and get pissed on a Saturday night, or have a w
eekend at the snow.’ He smiled sadly.

  ‘Those sound like pretty normal concerns to me.’

  Tony leaned back against the bench and looked up at the wavering tree canopy above them. ‘She really did want a baby more than anything, you know. We both did. This … this isn’t her. Getting pregnant was all she thought about for months and months.’

  ‘What was that time like for you both?’

  ‘She thought – we thought – that it would just happen, you know, the first time, but it didn’t. She’d build herself up each month, telling me she felt a bit sick, or had a headache, so she must be pregnant, getting all excited. Then she’d take a pregnancy test, before it even said to on the packet, and it’d be negative. She’d say it was too early to test anyway. Then she’d get her period and come crashing down: thinking there was something wrong with her, or with me, or that she’d made a mistake with her charts and the timing.’ He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t much fun in the end.’

  ‘It sounds like having a baby was very important to her.’

  ‘Yeah. She said there was no rush, that it would happen when we were both ready, but … once we got pregnant, she told me that she’d been doing all these things without telling me: taking her temperature, ovulation tests, herbal tablets, the lot.’

  ‘Why do you think she didn’t tell you?’

  He started to pick at a splinter of wood on the arm of the bench. He thought back to those months: the bickering, Anna pretending that she hadn’t been crying even though her eyes were red and swollen. ‘Because I would have told her she was being silly, that maybe the reason she couldn’t get pregnant was because she was too stressed, trying too hard. We were in the supermarket one day and she stood for ages in the aisle reading the backs of the little bottles of vitamins that claimed to be able to help with fertility. She picked one up, said that it was probably rubbish, so I nodded and said yes, it was a load of crap. That was it: she threw them on the floor, accused me of not wanting a baby, and burst into tears.’