by K. L. Slater
I raise my hand to knock and then freeze mid-air as a screech comes from within, followed by a torrent of abuse and foul language. I step back in alarm as I realise it is Fiona’s voice I can hear.
‘I won’t say anything.’ Then, calmer, ‘Please, just leave me alone. I want out.’
It takes me a moment to register that there are gaps before the shouts and swears, but no other voice, and that’s when I realise she’s on a phone call.
64
Judi
Outside Fiona’s flat, I shift from one foot to the other, trying to decide what to do.
Should I leave right now, go back home and call again another day? Or wait out here until she quietens down and then try to speak to her?
I glance up and down the corridor, wondering how it will look if one of her neighbours sticks their head out to see me lurking around in the hallway, obviously listening at the door.
But the corridor is empty, and apart from some muffled music coming from inside one of the flats behind me, there’s no other sign of life on this side of the corridor.
I step closer to the door and tilt my head a little. I can still hear Fiona’s voice, but thankfully she seems to have calmed down somewhat and is actually just speaking loudly now, not screeching or swearing.
I wonder if all her children are home from school, witnessing her outburst. Will they be afraid, or are they used to it? I decide it’s very probably the latter. Little Lily who I met on the stairs didn’t look like she’d be fazed by such behaviour one bit – maybe it’s just a way of life to the kids who live round here.
I hold my breath and listen for a few moments. Fiona seems to have stopped speaking now and I can hear only the muted tones of a television.
I knock on the door and wait, unsure of what to say when she opens it. I haven’t really thought about it; just that I need to apologise for Henry’s behaviour the other day and ask how Hank’s teething problems are.
There is no response from inside the flat. I wonder if she’s afraid to answer the door for some reason. There’s no letter box to call through; I passed a vast lattice of tenants’ mailboxes downstairs.
I knock again and step closer to the door.
‘Fiona?’ I call. ‘It’s Judi from the surgery. I just called to see if—’
Suddenly the door flies open inwards and I nearly fall straight into the flat after it.
‘What do you want?’
Fiona’s face is bloated and tear-stained. She’s dressed in just knickers and a vest top with a short silky robe draped over her shoulders, leaving her arms free underneath the fabric. I’m shocked how much skinnier she looks without the benefit of her flimsy clothes.
Behind her I see her daughter, Kylie, eyes wide and clutching little Harrison’s hand, his face covered in chocolate.
‘I … I just came to apologise for my husband’s behaviour the other day,’ I say hurriedly. ‘And to see if Hank’s gums have improved any with the teething gel.’
Fiona doesn’t speak, but stares at me in such a way I find myself literally squirming on the spot. She looks me up and down, and her exhausted expression becomes twisted and sneering.
‘Come to gloat, have you?’ I open my mouth to respond, but she raises her voice. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you; I can’t believe I ever trusted you. Now fuck off and don’t come here again.’
‘Mummy?’ Kylie sounds tearful, anxious.
Fiona whips round suddenly and the silky robe slips from her shoulders to the floor. I gasp out loud at what is revealed and my hand flies to my mouth.
But before I can utter a word, she steps back and slams the door in my face.
For a moment or two I can’t move; I’m rooted to the spot in shock. Then I knock on the door again.
‘Fiona! Please, let’s talk. You need to speak to someone about what’s happening to you.’
Silence. I can’t even hear the television now.
I knock again. ‘If not for yourself, then get help for the children’s sake.’
I wait but there’s no response, so I walk down the corridor and stop at the top of the stairwell, holding my breath against the stench of urine that wafts into my face courtesy of an open window.
Reaching into my handbag for my phone, my mind is cloudy with the dilemma of the situation. After what I’ve just seen, surely I have no choice but to call the police … or perhaps social services. If something happens to Fiona or her children, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
I activate the screen with my fingertip and stare at the brightness, waiting for the right answer to come.
A flutter of panic starts inside me and I suddenly decide I ought to think about it before taking any rash action. I’ll go back home and consider the right thing to do. My actions could change Fiona’s life; the authorities could take her children away, which will probably finish her off.
There’s no doubt that Fiona is a rather poor example to her kids. She isn’t a textbook mother or a smiling middle-class poster parent like the ones we display on the surgery noticeboard, but after spending a little time with her, there is one thing I can be certain of.
She loves her children, and I happen to know that currently they seem to be all she’s got that is good in her life.
Back in the car, I sit for a while looking up at the flats. I know now that Fiona’s apartment faces out over the other side, so even if she’s looking out of the window, she won’t be able to see me down here.
I take my phone out of my handbag and glance at the screen. There’s no text from Ben to say how Noah is.
My head feels full of pressure. Just lately, it seems that every way I turn, I hit a brick wall in my life. It feels like I’ve truly become the invisible woman: nobody hears what I say or sees what I do; my actions appear to have no impact on anyone around me.
A thought crawls into my head and just sort of sits there, tingling at the back of my mind. I’ve felt the sensation before and just ignored it, but this time I close my eyes and try to get in touch with the feeling it has created inside me.
It’s a sort of defiance, the beginnings of a drive to do something. As soon as I put the label on it, I feel the sensation swelling, becoming more powerful.
The old Judi, the one who knew how to make everything better, is still in there somewhere. I can feel her stirring.
I’m sick to death of sitting in the shadows. It feels like high time I did something about all the crap in my life.
65
Judi
I go home to freshen up and somehow manage to kill another couple of hours pottering around, but then I just can’t stand it any longer.
I text Ben to say I’m on my way back to the hospital and turn off my phone. I’ve heard nothing from him all afternoon and I’m going back whether he likes it or not.
When I get there, he looks tired and concerned.
‘They still haven’t told me when he’ll be discharged,’ he says.
Noah keeps drifting in and out of sleep, and although he looks impossibly pale, he seems comfortable enough.
I bite my tongue when thoughts about discussing my visit to Martha Carr begin to stir in my head. Now is most definitely not the time.
We’re both sitting by Noah’s bedside in companionable silence when the curtain is pulled back.
‘Amber!’ Ben looks up and frowns. I can see he’s fighting with himself.
Little Josh is with her and I pat my knee. He walks over and climbs up on to my lap. I’m struck by how big he’s getting, how tall. He’s far from being my baby now.
‘I couldn’t just sit at home worrying,’ she simpers to Ben. ‘I’m so sorry, darling. Please forgive me.’
‘We can’t talk about it here,’ he says tightly. ‘To be honest, I can’t even begin to get my head around what you did. I’ve done nothing but turn it over in my mind for the last few hours, and I’m no nearer understanding. I still can’t believe you’d leave Noah like that.’
‘I know.’ She hangs her head, ever the a
ctress. She hasn’t even acknowledged that I’m here. ‘It was a moment of madness. I was so … I don’t know … so scared that your mum was going to make trouble for me at the centre.’
‘If there’s been trouble, you’ve only made it yourself, Amber,’ I tell her. ‘Telling lies is never going to lead to a good outcome.’
‘I haven’t told any lies.’
‘You told us you were a lead worker when actually you were just a—’
‘Can you two just stop?’ Ben glares at both of us and I seal my mouth. ‘You’re like some of the kids in my class; constantly bickering and trying to get one up on each other. Why can’t you just get along?’
I press my lips together, afraid of what might come out if I try to speak. Amber looks at me but obviously thinks better of trying to communicate.
She puts her handbag next to my chair and steps outside the cubicle with Ben. I hear them speaking in low voices. Then Amber comes back inside and smiles at Josh.
‘Joshy, your daddy is going for coffees; can you go with him to help?’
Joshy? I frown to myself.
Always helpful, Josh jumps from my knee and runs after Ben. I stand up and fiddle with the bag of fluid on Noah’s drip, which seems to have slipped slightly.
‘I am really sorry, you know, Judi,’ Amber says softly when they’ve gone. ‘I accept I should never have left Noah alone like that. I just thought he’d be fine for a few minutes. I couldn’t work out what you were doing at the centre. I mean, why would you go down there, asking questions about me like that?’
‘Save it,’ I reply, sitting down again. ‘You’ll find I’m not such a pushover as my son.’
‘You’re right, I was never a lead support worker at the centre,’ she says, catching me off guard. ‘I exaggerated a bit about the job but I’m not a liar. All I wanted to do was to impress you and Henry at our first meeting.’
‘You can dress it up all you like, but the fact is, you did lie, Amber. Your colleague told me you were just a temp from an agency, and as such you couldn’t even work unsupervised with the children.’
‘And what about you?’ Her eyes flash. ‘Haven’t you ever lied?’
‘What?’ I’m distracted by the drip again. The tube looks like it might have a kink in it.
‘Have you never told a lie before to cover something up or make yourself feel better?’
It’s a good attempt to shift the blame, but I see through it immediately. I get up and trace my fingers down the slender tube to make sure it’s straight enough for the solution to slip through.
‘This isn’t about me,’ I say without turning round. ‘It’s about you, Amber and the fact that you left my sick eight-year-old grandson alone in the house.’
‘All of it is down to that? All the animosity and suspicion you have towards me is down to that one mistake I made today?’ She smiles and shakes her head, keeping her eyes on me as I move back to my seat. ‘I sense you run very deep, Judi. Like a calm stretch of water with a current beneath the surface strong enough to drag someone under.’
I throw my head back and laugh. ‘Full marks for trying the psychoanalysis angle, Amber, but as usual, you’re way off the mark.’ This unexpectedly honest exchange between us feels both refreshing and troubling, but I’m giving as good as I get.
‘No, really,’ she goes on, narrowing her eyes as she watches me. ‘What are you so scared of, Judi? Is it because Ben and I will soon be married and there’s nothing you can do about it? Isn’t it much healthier to just accept that things are changing? That your boys don’t need you any more?’
I stand and pick up my handbag. ‘I haven’t time for this, I need the bathroom. Rather than coming up with far-fetched stories, why don’t you try straightening that?’ I point to Noah’s drip. ‘The bag keeps slipping and I’ve tried to do it but can’t. All the nurses are so busy.’
‘I’ll have a look.’ She stands up, suddenly seeming eager to please.
I stand for a moment watching from outside the curtain, and then I pull it closed and approach the ward manager. I speak quietly to her and she walks back to the cubicle with me.
‘May I ask what you’re doing?’ she asks crisply, stepping forward. Amber jumps a mile and spins round.
‘Oh! Sorry, I was just trying to adjust the bag. It’s slipped, you see.’ She glances at me and back at the nurse. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
The ward manager doesn’t speak but turns on her heel and walks briskly away, her flat shoes clipping the floor.
‘What was all that about?’ Amber pulls a face.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I say. ‘When I went to ask how long before Noah is discharged, she asked me if you were alone in here with him.’
We look at each other in silence.
A few minutes later, Dr Kareem appears with the ward manager and I hold my breath when I see that Ben and Josh are behind him.
‘What’s happening here?’ Ben says, looking at Amber and then at Noah. ‘What’s wrong? Is Noah OK?’
Josh moves closer to me and I hold him tight with one arm. Amber steps closer to Ben.
Dr Kareem turns to Ben. ‘We have reason to believe someone may be purposely harming your son, Mr Jukes.’
‘What?’ Ben presses a hand to his forehead. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ He looks warily behind him, back into the ward. ‘Do you mean another patient has hurt Noah?’
Dr Kareem coughs. ‘No, that is not what I mean. As you know, Mr Jukes, our medical tests so far have proved inconclusive, and yet Noah’s mystery condition appears to be getting worse.’ He looks at Ben and then addresses Amber. ‘I have to ask you if you have tampered with Noah’s intravenous drip in any way.’
‘What? For God’s sake, of course I haven’t.’
‘Then can I ask what you were doing when I came in earlier?’ the ward manager demands. ‘You appeared to be touching the fluid pouch.’
‘I was just trying to secure the bag!’ Amber gasps.
‘Why didn’t you simply ask a nurse?’
‘Because you were all busy – I was actually trying to do you lot a favour.’ She looks at me. ‘Tell them, Judi.’
‘This is madness.’ Ben’s voice rises. ‘Amber would never do that. I mean, why would anyone do something so awful?’
‘To make Noah appear to be ill when he isn’t really,’ I say faintly. ‘You also said she’d never leave Noah, but she did.’
Ben’s eyes open wide and he looks at Amber. ‘You wouldn’t. Tell me you wouldn’t do that.’
She shakes her head, apparently dumbfounded. She reaches for him but he pulls his hand away.
‘I saw her,’ I whisper, turning to Ben. ‘She was messing about with his drip when I came in with the nurse.’
‘You! You asked me to …’ Amber is breathless now. The hair around her face looks damp and she gulps in air like a dying fish. She grabs at Ben’s shoulders with both hands. ‘Ben, this is madness. I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t do that!’
Ben looks at Dr Kareem. ‘It doesn’t make sense, Doctor, this – this accusation. What on earth would Amber gain from doing something so heinous? It’s ridiculous.’
Amber is silent, her face pale and drawn.
When I pick up her handbag and root inside, she doesn’t try to stop me. There is a small bottle in there, filled with liquid. I take it out and hold it in the air so everyone can see it.
‘What’s that? That isn’t mine!’ she cries.
Dr Kareem takes the bottle from me and inspects the label. ‘Glucose,’ he says gravely. ‘The very thing we’ve found in Noah’s urine samples and yet not in his blood sample, which has been taken directly by the nursing staff.’
‘Someone must’ve put it in my bag.’ Amber begins to cry. ‘Ben, I swear to God it isn’t mine.’
My son’s face is deathly pale and he seems to have shrunk in stature.
‘You understand we’ll need to inform the police,’ the ward manager says quietly. ‘We have a duty of care.’<
br />
‘No!’ Amber looks wildly around the room. Her eyes settle on poor, listless Noah in the bed. ‘I’d never hurt him like this. I wouldn’t.’
Ben walks over to stand next to me and I look up at him, unable to speak, my own eyes and heart full of the horror of it all.
66
Judi
The next day, Josh is at school, Noah is tucked up safely on my sofa and Maura has been informed that I won’t be in work for at least the next few days. Social services have been in touch with Ben and I’m struggling to deal with the way everything has blown up in my face. I decide to immerse myself in housework for the rest of the day.
It might seem odd to some, but I can get lost in the routine of cleaning and household chores. Something about the mechanical actions that I can do on autopilot just takes me out of myself and gives me temporary respite from the constant chatter and worrying of the voice in my head.
I don’t know what’s happening with Amber and the police. I’ve left Ben to deal with it and I’m concentrating on caring for my grandsons. Before we left the hospital, the term ‘Munchausen by proxy’ was mentioned several times and Amber descended into a real mess.
I start with the dirty laundry bin in the main bathroom. As I seem to have worn the same things day in, day out lately, the clothes in here are mainly Henry’s.
I don’t know where he is today. He never leaves a note and I don’t expect him to, but I know from his usual schedule that he probably won’t be back until teatime.
I take great handfuls and throw them on the bathroom floor to sort into piles: whites, darks and coloureds. I gather the dark clothes together, and just as I’m straightening up, something catches my eye on the whites pile.
I drop the laundry in my arms and peer more closely at one of the white T-shirts that Henry is fond of wearing under his V-neck woollen pullovers. There’s a mark approximately two centimetres long just under the shoulder seam.
