‘I have no idea,’ Neil said when I asked him if he knew where the missing picture was.
I thought about going upstairs to ask Michael or Rose if they had knocked it off the wall or hidden it, but I knew they wouldn’t have.
Neil and I spent twenty minutes lifting the furniture, turning cushions, moving tables. I even rummaged through the bin.
We tried to remember the last time we had actually been aware of the picture. Neither of us could remember for sure. But we both agreed we were more likely to notice it not being there. We concluded that it hadn’t been missing for long.
‘Do you think we should call the police back?’ Neil said.
‘No way,’ I said. ‘What good would it do anyway? They can’t fingerprint something that’s not there.’
‘The window,’ he said. ‘With the hand mark on.’
‘I would die if they did it and it turned out to be me. When I jumped up on the side to look out of the window, I would definitely have put my hand on the glass for support. I just don’t want to take the chance.’
Neil nodded.
‘Why would anyone want to steal a photograph of us?’ he said.
It was a good question. For which I could only think of one answer.
‘So he knows what we look like?’ I said.
My back prickled again.
I couldn’t understand why someone who could break into our house with apparent ease would want to take away a photo of us. Surely if he wanted to hurt us, he would do it in the house, not try to recognise us somewhere else and then do something.
Unless it was just to torment us. To make us feel like we were being watched wherever we went. And why Neil too, or was it just my photo he wanted? Once again I felt like somehow I was dragging Neil into something he didn’t deserve to be in.
I imagined the attacker outside the house right at that moment, watching. He would have seen the police come, then the paramedics. And he would have watched them all go. Without me. He knew I was still inside. Knew we all were.
Why was he doing this? Had he meant all along to do more than just steal my handbag?
I wondered again whether he might have been an ex-pupil of mine. I racked my brain to think of anything I might have ever done to make a pupil really pissed off with me. I couldn’t think of anything.
But if this was a long-term plan on his part, vengeance, or some sort of vendetta, I must have done something in my past.
Colin had asked me if I had ever experienced anything like this before. I started to wonder if I had, in fact, blacked out before. If I had done something to upset this person, if I had hurt them, that might explain why they were getting back at me now.
I wondered where it would all end.
Once again I felt like I should apologise to Neil. I hugged him instead.
‘When are you going to your mum and dad’s?’ Neil said.
‘I haven’t rung them yet. But soon I hope.’
Neil looked at the floor and nodded slowly. He looked vulnerable.
‘Maybe I should stay here,’ I said.
He shook his head, looked up at the gap on the wall that used to hold our picture, and turned to me with a poor attempt at a smile.
‘I’ll be at work most of the day. It wouldn’t be good for you to be at home on your own.’
‘Abi will come and stay with me.’
He shook his head again.
‘Chris, that could be putting you both in danger, unnecessarily. It’s pointless.’
‘You’ll starve,’ I said. ‘You’ll be like a lost kitten without me.’
‘I believe they have invented meals that you can simply cook in a microwave,’ he said. ‘And I think if you turn the tap on, water comes out. You can drink that.’
‘You won’t have anyone to help you drink.’
He punched me gently on the arm.
‘And if that’s how you’re going to fight an intruder, you’ve got no chance.’
‘Give them a call,’ he said. ‘It’ll do you good. Them too, probably.’
I made two calls. The first one was to Abi to make sure it was OK for the kids to come over the next day after school. She had spoken to Oli, and he thought it was a great idea. I didn’t tell her about the police and paramedic situation. Nor about the missing photo.
The second call was to Mum and Dad. At first Mum was concerned that something had happened between me and Neil.
‘We’re fine,’ I said. ‘Really. I just need to get away for a bit, try to get my head straight. My friend, Abi, is having Michael and Rose for an extended sleep over, Neil’s got a lot of work on. It just means I won’t be banging around the house on my own. As long as it’s OK with you?’
Of course it was OK. They were my mum and dad.
In the morning I held back the tears and said goodbye to Michael and Rose. I didn’t want them to go off to school having seen me cry. Rose managed to keep a check on hers too.
‘Have a fantastic time with Josie and Jess,’ I said. ‘And be good.’
They promised they would, and ran out to Abi’s car as though they were in a race.
I noticed that Neil’s eyes had been red when he’d hugged them goodbye before he left for work.
After he said goodbye to them, he held me. I cried a little.
‘I’ll call you later,’ he said. ‘Around lunchtime.’
He never usually called me at lunchtime. Or anytime, from work.
‘Be careful,’ I said.
‘I’ll kill anyone who breaks into our house,’ he said.
‘I meant with the microwave meals and working the tap.’
At 10am Dad arrived to pick me up. I had packed enough clothes and make-up for a week, although my suitcase felt as though it was heavy enough for a month. Dad threw me a look as he hefted into the boot of the car.
‘It’s not as much as it seems,’ I said.
In the car Dad sniffed and snuffled. I desperately wanted to open the window, but I didn’t want to make him feel worse.
‘You’re still not feeling well?’ I said.
‘I’m OK,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased you’re coming home for a bit. You can help your mum look after me. I was thinking of hiring a servant anyway.’
We both smiled.
‘Maybe we could get a bit of fishing in,’ I said. ‘If you’re feeling up to it.’
His smile grew broader.
Although I had brought my daily time-sheets, I hoped that being with Mum and Dad, in a different environment, might make the blackouts and dreams less frequent. Maybe even stop them completely. I was due to see Colin again in a few days and I wanted to be able to tell him that things were calming down.
Mum was waiting at the front door as Dad pulled into the drive. Dad insisted on lugging my suitcase. He struggled with it up the steps to the front door and I wished I had packed less things.
As usual, Mum had already boiled the kettle in readiness for our arrival. An unopened packet of biscuits sat on the kitchen table. I thought I could smell baking too. Fairy cakes.
Dad took my suitcase upstairs to my old bedroom. I followed him up and helped dump it on the bed. It always surprised me how small my room seemed compared to my memories of it from childhood.
‘Do you mind if I open the window?’ I said to Dad.
‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘It’s your room.’
‘I’ll just unpack,’ I said. ‘I’ll be down soon.’
He sniffed and snuffled his way downstairs, joining Mum in the kitchen. I heard their muted voices drifting up to my room.
‘Thank you for having me to stay,’ I said.
The three of us were sat at the kitchen table, hot mugs of coffee and sweet biscuits in front of us.
‘I’ve made some cakes,’ Mum said. ‘But they’re too hot at the moment. We’ll have them later.’
That was her way of saying it was OK.
‘I won’t stay too long,’ I said. ‘Just a short break really. Try to make sense of things.’
‘You can stay
as long as you want,’ Dad said. ‘You know that.’
‘We know you’re safe when you’re with us,’ Mum said. ‘We like that.’
‘I’m safe anyway,’ I said. ‘It’s just my mind that does odd things at the moment.’
Doctor Jones’ question about any history of mental illness in our family popped into my head.
I already knew that there wasn’t, but an enormous urge welled up inside me to ask the question anyway.
Butterflies flipped in my tummy. I didn’t need to ask. It might only serve to upset Mum and Dad. Why upset things when I already knew the answer?
‘I went to the doctor again,’ I said. ‘He asked me all sorts of odd questions.’
Mum took a bite of another biscuit, Dad put his coffee mug down on the table. My butterflies fluttered even more.
‘What sort of questions?’ Mum said.
‘Questions about my mental state.’ I pushed the handle of my mug a few inches. Twisted the mug around. ‘About whether I had experienced any sort of mental breakdown in the past. About whether I felt like hurting myself, or others. He said he wanted to consider whether I should be sent for a full psychiatric assessment.’
‘Oh Chris,’ Mum said.
‘In a way it was quite funny really,’ I said.
I grabbed a biscuit and took a tiny bite.
‘I mean, he even asked me if there was any history of mental illness in our family. Can you believe that?’
I forced out a dismissive laugh. Even to me it sounded hollow.
‘What did you tell him?’ Dad said.
‘She would have told him there wasn’t any, of course,’ Mum said.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘That’s exactly what I said.’
‘How serious does he think your condition is?’ Dad said.
I took another tiny bite of the biscuit.
‘I don’t know. Fairly serious I suppose. If he’s considering sending me for an assessment.’
I looked at Dad. Looked into his eyes. I thought I saw something there, but I couldn’t work out what it was. He held my gaze for a moment then shifted it to Mum. She stood up and went to check on the fairy cakes.
‘They’re still too warm,’ she said.
‘I was right,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t I?’
‘Of course you were right, dear,’ Mum said, her back to us both.
The fairy cakes smelled good. But now I smelled something else too. Tension.
‘Dad?’
‘What happens if the doctor decides you need to go for this psychiatric assessment?’ he said. ‘What happens after that?’
‘I don’t really know,’ I said. ‘I suppose it’s possible that they will give me additional medication, or I might have to stay somewhere where they can keep an eye on me. But I’m only guessing. My big concern is Michael and Rose. If I’m assessed as having some sort of mental disorder I’m worried how that might affect Michael and Rose. I don’t know if social services would get involved.’
My cheeks grew warm as I spoke. My voice struggled to keep an even tone, and my eyes felt watery.
‘I’m scared that they might take them away from me.’
Mum turned from the cakes.
‘Darling, that wouldn’t happen,’ she said. ‘You’re a wonderful mother. That would never happen.’
I stood up and threw my arms around Mum. I heard the scrape of Dad’s chair as he rose from the table.
‘Chris,’ he said. ‘No matter what happens, we love you. We always have loved you, right from day one. And we always will love you. You were our only child. You have always been the most important thing in our lives.’
‘Roy!’ Mum said.
‘Me and your mum were overjoyed when we had you. You have made our lives worth living.’
An uncomfortable feeling crept over me. I felt like Dad was telling me something other than what he was saying. I searched between the lines, but couldn’t fathom his meaning. It was obviously putting Mum on edge too.
‘Roy!’ she said again.
Dad stared at Mum, his eyes narrowed. His lower lip was shaking, it looked as though is shoulders shook too.
He looked into my eyes. A deep and penetrating stare. But not angry. He wasn’t showing me anger. His eyes were full of sorrow.
He turned away and strode towards the front room. Before he turned, I saw something else in his eyes.
Tears.
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