Harriet pressed her lips together, ‘It’s the motivation the prosecution has put forward. And with your reaction to the letter in questioning…’
‘Oh,’ Eloise looked around, bewildered. ‘I just, I just don’t remember. Why can’t I remember?’
Her breathing became ragged, her eyes scanning violently side to side.
‘Take a deep breath Mrs Lane-Huxley,’ Harriet said firmly, ‘Eloise, breathe!’
Eloise crashed to the floor, shaking and hyperventilating.
‘How could I do it? How could I do it?’ she wailed, smacking the flat of her palm against her head and chest. Her nurse, Amelia, crossed the room to her, coming to her side just as Eloise vomited all over the floor. Amelia glanced up at Harriet, her expression an apology. Another nurse entered and between them they half carried, half walked a weeping Eloise from the interview room.
Harriet stood alone in the room, stunned, the acrid stench of sick assailing her nose. She covered her mouth and nose to block the smell and, taking shallow breaths to stave off a sympathy vomit, gathered up her folders.
‘Ms Bell?’ a deep voice sounded behind her.
Harriet looked around and saw Doctor Taylor standing in the doorway. Tall and lean, dressed in a grey, tailored suit that matched his tired eyes, he looked wrung out but sophisticated.
‘Shall we go to my office?’ he offered, turning to lead the way.
Thankful to get out of the stinking room, Harriet swiftly followed.
Doctor Taylor took a seat behind his desk and gestured to a chair for Harriet. She perched on the hard wooden stool and waited.
‘Panic attack,’ he stated simply.
’Are they dangerous? To her health I mean.’
‘No, no. Panic attacks may look and feel very scary, but they are just a physical manifestation of fear. Or in Mrs Lane-Huxley’s case, trauma. They happen most often when she is talking about the events of November 15th, when she is pushed to remember.
‘So this wasn’t the first time?’
‘No it was not. In fact, for Eloise the attacks have been becoming more regular. Though the valium seems to be helping.’
Harriet nodded, gathering herself.
‘Can I ask you a few questions Doctor Taylor? Seeing as I am here?’
‘Of course Ms Bell. What would you like to know?’
Harriet shuffled through her folder producing a neat white sheet. ‘I have a copy of your report on Eloise, from the DPP.’
‘Naturally,’ Doctor Taylor replied.
‘You state she is doing better, improving. But just now you told me her panic attacks are becoming more frequent.’
‘Panic attacks are not always a sign of a deterioration of mental illness, Ms Bell. They can be symptom of the mind healing. Remembering.’
‘And is she? Remembering?’
Doctor Taylor sighed deeply, slouching back in his chair and adjusting his silver-framed glasses. ‘Not as we would like, no. Details of her life and memories, are all sharp and defined. But events surrounding her husband’s death… she has remembered no more than you already know, flashes of her sister covered in blood, the scissors on the bathroom floor. Nothing of Beesands or Grant Huxley. At least, nothing she has admitted.’
Harriet narrowed her eyes at the doctor. ‘That’s a leading thing to say Doctor Taylor. You could be read to be implying…’
‘I imply nothing,’ Doctor Taylor held up his hands in submission.
‘Do you think she remembers more than she is letting on?’ Harriet pushed.
Doctor Taylor paused, ‘I have worked here many years Ms Bell. Most of my patients are, to put it mildly, unpleasant.’
Try defending a rapist, Harriet thought. Then considered he probably treated the insane ones and suppressed a shudder.
Doctor Taylor continued, ‘Eloise is different. Open, eager even, to participate in treatment. I can’t help but think how differently this all could have worked out had she sought treatment before things got to this point. Of course, I understand her reluctance, her past experiences at Hollydale were not, positive. Few people who experience electroshock therapy are keen to try it again anytime soon.’
‘But do you think she is lying?’
He fixed Harriet with his eyes, ‘No, Ms Bell. I do not. I find Mrs Lane-Huxley to be sincere. Coupled with her previous history of delusion and treatment as a teenager, I believe this episode of amnesia to be genuine.’
Harriet allowed herself to let out a heavy breath and relaxed her shoulders. ‘So her memory is sound. But just not at that moment?’
Doctor Taylor nodded.
‘Doesn’t fit well with the criminal definition of insanity then,’ Harriet continued. As she had suspected. Automatism was definitely the right direction for her defence.
‘No,’ Dr Taylor agreed. ‘But I don’t believe she was in her right mind, or even in control of her mind when Mr Huxley met his fate.’
‘A temporary disease of the mind?’
‘Would be my clinical opinion, yes.’
‘Brought on by extreme stress? Like the threat to her child?’
‘Protecting one’s young is a base instinct in all of us. For someone with Eloise’s fragile mental health, to discover such a threat could reasonably trigger an episode of amnesia as she is experiencing.
‘So in your professional opinion, finding the application for custody whilst alone in the house with no one to support her to calm, she could have entered a fugue state?
‘Yes.’
‘She left the house, her child. Went for her regular walk….
‘Her regular walk you say?’
‘Eloise told me that Thursdays she usually went for a walk and June watched over Jacob. But that week June was in Salcombe.’
‘So a change in routine and a trigger. Then reverting to her usual routine.’
‘Meaning she could conceivably have been going for her regular walk? Following routine rather than acting out a pre-determined plan?’
‘That would fit with expected behavioural patterns. How that works for your defence, I can’t help you there.’
Harriet met his eyes confidently, ‘That’s my job, Doctor Taylor.’
Memories of her sister covered in blood were inducing panic attacks, no other recollection of the events of November 15. How can someone so gentle transform into someone so violent, even for a moment? Harriet wondered. Despite Randell Dawes’ experience of his wife’s mental illness, a change so drastic just didn’t fit with the Eloise she knew.
Her recollection of her previous committal to Hollydale was fuzzy at best. She recounted the normal childhood torments siblings suffered at the hands of their older siblings. Even Nellie had been known to boss Harriet around from time to time… None of that could be classified as a ‘delusion’. There had to be more to that story.
June remained a confusing character. So protective of Eloise, yet she had had an affair with Grant. Such a deep betrayal. And now, deciding it best not to bring Jacob to visit? The justification seemed legitimate, on the surface. But to keep a child from his mother? Eloise saw only love in her sister’s actions. Perhaps Harriet was over thinking it. She hadn’t warmed to June Lane.
What was concerning was Eloise’s comment that Grant liked things his way… the flash of fear that filled her eyes, what wasn’t she saying? Had Grant been controlling, or worse, abusive? June hadn’t thought so. But what do we really know of the relationships of others? She’d have to see if she could get more out of Eloise about that.
Despite what she was accused of, Harriet’s heart went out to the woman, so consumed with guilt over actions she couldn’t even recall taking. Eloise had loved her husband, honestly it seemed. And he had let her down, badly. He was going to betray her. Just like my father, she thought angrily. But did betrayal justify murder? It certainly explained it.
Harriet shook her head and climbed into her Mazda. Doctor Taylor had given her much to think on, and all but confirmed her and Randell’s direction to plead a
utomatism was the correct course. She had to shake off this doubt and focus. Eloise deserved the chance to be treated and heal, to live a life free of illness. She’d never get that chance in prison. No, Harriet had to make sure their defence was solid, and that Eloise was found not guilty due to automatism. Her future depended on it.
Eloise sat on her small cot, the walls of her private room close around her. Legs crossed like a primary school child, she rocked herself gently back and forth, back and forth, arms wrapped about herself. The screams of another patient, probably Maddie Hall, the child-killer, echoed down the hall outside. Eloise pressed her eyes shut and tried to focus on her breathing. Slow, steady, calm. Think of a river, place your fears on a leaf and watch the currents carry them away. Slow, steady calm.
She repeated the mantra until the trembling of her limbs began to still.
She’d got worked up again. It didn’t matter what she said to herself once she got into that state, she couldn’t stop it. The pent up energy would build and build until it burst like a damn through her chest, cascading through her body, carrying her with it. After, it took time to calm down. Discipline. Routine. Control. She had to regain that if she ever wanted to get out of here.
A surge of panic gripped her in an iron and unforgiving fist. Breathing out heavily she released her arms and stretched out on her back, eyes to the ceiling. This place was so suffocating. Small rooms, long corridors, soft pink couches, pale blue nurses. Beige and plain and tight.
She hated it, but it was still the better option. If she wanted to ensure she was never sent back to Hollydale, she had to follow the rules, control her emotions. Anywhere was better than Hollydale.
How did she ever end up here?
In her mind she pictured her home in Torcross. The open rooms, the cream furniture, the large windows facing the lake that lined the sea. Jacob playing with brightly coloured blocks on an alphabet rug.
Jacob.
She rolled onto her side and squeezed the bridge of her nose. Harriet was a good person. She was working hard, trying to help her. Honestly trying. It was nice, to have someone in her corner, for once in her life. Eloise released a sigh. Everyone should have a friend like Harriet, she thought. She makes you believe in yourself, even if you shouldn’t. She glanced over at the small photo pinned to her wall. Dark smiling eyes, gummy grin, shining golden curls. She kissed her finger tips and pressed them to the photo of Jacob, tears in her eyes.
‘I’m coming home, baby,’ she whispered to the colourless walls. ‘Somehow, I’m coming home.’
13: The past won't rest
Harriet shut and locked her apartment door, while simultaneously kicking off her high heels. It had been a long day going into London and now she wanted nothing more than a glass of wine and the leftover pizza in her fridge. Maybe she’d read a few chapters of Kate Atkinson’s Case Histories, and then bed…
She was padding down her hallway, pulling her jacket from her shoulders when she heard voices. Music blared and she realised the sound was coming from her TV. She strode across her lounge and flicked off the box. Strange, she thought to herself, I don’t remember turning that on this morning. Dismissing the mystery with a quick shrug, Harriet strolled into her kitchen and opened her fridge door.
‘Hey there stranger!’ called a loud booming voice. Harriet nearly leaped from her skin. Snapping her head in the direction of the voice she froze in surprise. At the door to her kitchen, head thrown back, laughter erupting from his mouth, was Billy.
‘Oh Hare!’ he grinned, wiping the mirth from his eyes, ‘you should’a seen your face.’
Harriet let out a frustrated breath, heart beat lowering rapidly from the extreme level it had ratcheted up to when she’d heard that unexpected call. Embarrassment, dressed as anger replacing her fear.
‘What the fuck Billy?’ she exclaimed, pulling the wine from the fridge. ‘How the hell’d you get in here?’
Billy held up set of keys dangling from a worn blue key ring, ‘You never changed the locks. They say you should do that. After a break up.’
Harriet kicked the fridge door shut and, snatching up a glass, stalked passed her brother and into the lounge.
‘You can’t break up with family,’ she hissed.
‘Yeah, and that still shits you hey?’ he returned.
Harriet glared at him and flopped down on her couch, stretching out her legs, blocking Billy from sitting down.
He smirked at her and perched on the arm of the lounge.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ Harriet demanded, taking a gulp of her wine.
‘Can’t a brother come and visit his big sister?’
‘No. Not without a phone call first, he can’t. Besides, it’s mid-week. You have work tomorrow…’
Billy shrugged, ‘Took some leave.’
Harriet narrowed her eyes at him, ‘It’s a new job Billy. What leave?’
Billy looked away, eyeing the apartment. ‘Hasn’t changed a bit,’ he said, lifting up her feet and plonking himself on the sofa. Harriet wriggled up, grudgingly making room for him beside her.
‘It’s changed a lot thank you. Much cleaner.’
Billy grinned at her, before reaching over and taking her glass. Taking a deep drink before returning the wine, he glanced at her askance.
‘Crystal kicked me out,’ he said.
‘What? When? And more importantly why?’
Billy smiled ruefully, eyes avoiding hers, ’Last night. Caught me toking. Bad for the baby, apparently.’
Harriet sat up straight, pulling her legs in under herself to create some height. ‘Apparently? Well no shit Billy. What were you thinking?’
He shrugged, ‘I was bored.’
‘And what about the garage? You didn’t get fired again did you?’
‘No, no. I’m not lying, Hare. Dave gave me some time off. Unpaid leave. Works a bit slow for him, so…’
‘So not fired, but not working either.’
‘It’s temporary.’
Harriet scoffed, rolling her eyes. ‘And you are here because?’
‘I just thought it’s been a while since we caught up…’
‘You don’t want mum and dad to know, right?’
He looked at her sheepishly, ‘Right.’
Harriet sighed heavily and refilled her glass.
‘Billy,’ Harriet said, voice stern. ‘You need to fix things with Crystal. Running down here isn’t going to help anything, and with the baby…’
‘I know, I know… I just need a bit of time out, you know?’
Harriet frowned and reached for the TV remote, flicking on the news. They sat in silence a moment, feigning interest in the February weather forecast. Grey, cloudy, sunny spells. Nothing noteworthy.
‘So,’ Billy ventured, ‘can I stay? You know, for a bit?’
Harriet paused, assessing him over the rim her wine glass. She sighed heavily. ’Of course you can stay. But I’m not cleaning up after you, not like before. And I don’t cook for two, so it’s take away or chef Bill. Got it?’
‘Indian or Thai?’ Billy asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.
‘Thai,’ Harriet smiled. As Billy punched in the Deliveroo search, she heaved herself from the couch and returned to the kitchen, collected up another wine glass from the kitchen and filled it for Billy.
Returning to the lounge she handed it to him, ‘You gotta fucking grow up Bill.’
‘Yeah,’ Billy said, hand rubbing his short cropped hair, ‘I know.’
The TV light cast a cool blue glow across the lounge as Harriet sat reading client files at her dinning table. Rolling her stiff shoulders she glanced over at her brother. In the soft light she could just make out the back of his head tucked into a groove on the lounge arm, one hand dangling before him. I bet you’re asleep, she thought as she stood and walked across the room. Eyes closed, breathing heavy, Billy looked peaceful, calm, in a way he rarely did in the light of day. Harriet sighed, gathering up a blanket and laying it over her wayward brothe
r before making her way to bed and rest. She left the TV on, its soft voices filling the space around Billy, to keep him company.
‘Morning.’
Harriet looked up from her files and took another sip of coffee. ’Sleep ok?’ she asked.
Billy nodded and padded into the kitchen. He emerged with his own steaming cup of bitter morning kick-starter. Harriet slurped down the last of her own and stood up, gathering folders into her bag.
‘You going in already?’ Billy asked, surprised. ‘I thought you lawyers got to sleep in.’
Harriet pressed her lips together, determined not to bite back.
‘I have a client meeting at 10 a.m. over at Longhorn Correctional and reams of notes still to review. I work better in my office.’
‘Good to know the wicked are up at the same time as us hard working folks.’ Billy quipped.
‘At least us “wicked types” earn our own keep,’ she snapped.
‘Honest work never pays. Keeps us little guys down.’
Harriet saw red. The long hours, the lack of sleep, the rapist she had to meet with this morning, the weird uncertainly she felt about Eloise’s case, all her challenges reared up before her and found a focus for release: Billy Bell.
‘You chose to be a “little guy” Billy. You had a way out.’
‘A factory worker’s son from Ellesmere Port? Bullshit, Hare.’
‘You did and you threw it away. And you fucking know it Billy. Do you remember what I promised you that summer after Nellie died? When dad left the first time and mum fell apart? I promised I would never leave you. That I would wait for you and we would go together. Remember that?’ Harriet paused, eyes burning into Billy’s now somber face.
‘I waited for you,’ she continued. ‘Two fucking years longer in Ellesmere working a Tesco checkout to save up enough for us to come down here to uni. And you made it. You got your grades and we left. You and me, we got out. And then what happened, huh Billy? What happened then?’
The Unsound Sister Page 9