Don’t Stand So Close

by Luana Lewis

He stumbled, trying to climb up the slippery steps of the porch and she clung on tighter.

  A bright light burst through her eyelids. She blinked. Stella was standing next to the fucked-up window, shining a torch right at her. She looked terrified and she looked like she was sorry. She’d turned white and she was breathing like she was having an asthma attack or something.

  ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Stella said. She got a sick look on her face when she saw the blood. ‘Are you in pain?’

  She left her face pressed against the policeman’s shoulder. ‘She didn’t get very far,’ he said.

  Just inside the house, he put her down. She preferred being carried. She wasn’t going to help them; she wasn’t going to make it easy. She let her legs go limp and refused to walk. Stella came closer and held one of her arms, he took hold of the other. She slumped between them, so they had to half lift, half drag her. The house was a mess. Totally fucked up. It was cold inside, too.

  ‘The study,’ Stella said.

  They dragged her, all the way through the living room, across the entrance hall and into the study. She tried to make herself heavy. She wanted Stella to suffer. She wanted to make her pay, for calling her a crazy liar.

  The window in the study was tiny: long and narrow and placed high up on the wall. There was no way out.

  When they let go of her, she stumbled, dropped to her knees. Her clothes were on fire. She pulled at them, trying to get her arms out of her jacket; she threw it off, everything was tangled, she couldn’t get her legs out, she was jerking all over the place.

  ‘Blue, stop.’ Stella held her down. Her voice was kind and soft.

  Now her skin had turned clammy and cool, the burning had gone away but the snow was back inside her and she couldn’t get warm. Her blood was leaking out, all over the place.

  The two of them wrapped a blanket around her and lifted her into a deep, soft chair.

  Stella rubbed her arms and her back. ‘I think she has hypothermia,’ she said. ‘We need to keep her temperature stable.’

  They were smothering her, in blankets. Blood was flowing, from the cuts on her hands, soaking all the way down, all the way right inside, down into the chair.

  The policeman pulled at her arms, straightening them out, examining the bits of glass in her hands, pushing her sleeves up, staring at the old scars too. He had gloves on. She watched what he was doing with the tweezers, but it was like watching somebody else’s body, someone else who was bleeding. She felt nothing.

  Stella looked away. Like she was about to faint.

  ‘I don’t think there’s too much damage,’ the policeman said. He was lying, pretending to be cheerful. ‘A few glass splinters. I’ll take some of them out and clean the cuts with disinfectant. Then you’ll need to see a proper doctor.’

  ‘The nearest emergency room is a thirty-minute drive,’ Stella said. ‘Longer if the roads are iced over.’

  He held her arm, stretched out straight along the arm of the chair, his fingers tight around her wrist. He didn’t flinch as he stabbed the sharp tip of the tweezers into the cuts. She hoped he knew what he was doing. Slowly, he took out a sliver of glass. It stung when he pulled it out, she pressed her lips together but she was moaning. He did it again, the sharp tip of the tweezers into her bloody hands, over and over again. It took for ever. When he had finished, he laid the tweezers down on the towel, next to the bits of glass. Stella swooped in and took them away. He bandaged her hands and wrists. He was useless, her fists were so thick she looked like a boxer.

  Her blood was splattered all over his shirt. His jeans were soaking wet.

  Stella sat on the arm of the chair and tried to stroke her hair. She let her. Stella felt sorry for her. Stella wasn’t a bad person. Blue would fight for Max too, if he was her husband. She wouldn’t want to believe anything bad about him either.

  There was noise, from the entrance hall. Someone was coming through the front door.

  ‘I’m home,’ he said.

  It was him. The feeling of warmth spread through her, flowing from deep inside her belly, up through her arms and down to her toes. Fizzing. Like champagne.

  Hilltop, 2 a.m.

  Her husband stood at the door of the study. He had his coat slung over his arm and he was holding his medical bag. He was calm and composed and he looked right through her, as though she were invisible.

  Nobody moved.

  Blue huddled under a blanket. Stella perched on the edge of her chair, still feeling the adrenaline rush of her brief foray outside the house.

  ‘Peter?’ Max said. He was apparently more surprised to see her old flame than he was to see Blue.

  Peter was leaning against her desk, his arms folded and his shirt smeared with Blue’s blood. He nodded. He didn’t rush forward to offer Max a handshake.

  ‘Stella called. She asked me to come over,’ Peter said. ‘What brings you home at this hour?’

  Max placed his bag down on the floor. He did not move any closer. He did not embrace her. It wasn’t the presence of unexpected guests that held him back; it was never really any different when he arrived home. Stella had learned to live with the distance between them.

  She saw the scene through Peter’s eyes: a man disinterested in his wife. Detached.

  She wondered if Max would care, if he knew, about the kiss with Peter. She could only hope there might be a flicker of jealousy somewhere behind his inscrutable exterior. He knew they had slept together, once. But she could barely summon the energy she needed to delude herself.

  ‘You’re still with the police?’ Max asked.

  Peter nodded. ‘I am. I take it someone from the Met police tracked you down. Asked about a patient of yours who’s gone missing.’

  ‘This girl arrived at the house tonight.’ Stella placed her hands on Blue’s shoulders, as if to bring attention to the most unexpected person in the room. ‘She says her name is Blue. I understand you know who she is, and you know the family—’

  ‘Why is it so cold in here?’ Max asked.

  ‘Because there’s a gaping hole in the living room,’ Stella said. ‘Our guest threw your mother’s Buddha through the window.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘She says she’s your patient.’

  Max nodded. ‘Was,’ he said. ‘Was my patient.’ He seemed to feel no need to explain. The anger simmering in Stella’s solar plexus grew larger.

  ‘Blue cut herself on the glass from the window,’ Stella said. ‘Pete’s been trying to patch her up.’

  Blue had perked up at the sight of Max. She was alert and upright in the chair, the blanket had dropped down around her waist. She was staring at Max as though her life depended on it. Her hair was still wet with snow, her hands were grotesque, swollen with white dressings, bloodstains seeping through the bandages. A smile spread across her face and lit up her eyes as she gazed at him.

  Stella knew just how she felt.

  After a few moments Blue couldn’t contain herself, she ran straight at Max and buried her head in his chest.

  Max was embarrassed. He pulled at her arms, loosening them, trying to extricate himself.

  Her 44-year-old husband would never fall for the charms of a disturbed teenager. Even one as seductive as Blue. Surely.

  ‘How did you get my home address?’ He held her at arm’s length.

  ‘On the internet,’ Blue said.

  ‘How did you really get my home address?’

  ‘I saw it on an envelope in your office.’

  Stella could see Blue’s mood sinking in the face of Max’s coldness. Her damaged thumb hovered around her mouth and she slunk back to her chair, sulking.

  ‘How could you do this to me?’ Stella asked. ‘How could you get involved with her without telling me? She could have brought her father here with her.’ Her voice was tight, strained.

  Peter stayed well back, looking between the three of them. His expression was like thunder. Stella despised herself for involving him again. He was still trying
to help her and she was still beyond rehabilitation. And this time it could cost him.

  ‘Stella, this is not the time.’ Max used the same tone for her that he used for Blue. Concerned, but condescending. He turned his back on them, as though hoping they might have vanished by the time he turned round again. He ran his hand over his hair. He lifted his bag up on to Stella’s desk and began to search inside it.

  ‘She needs to be treated in hospital. And we need to leave soon,’ Max said. ‘They’re expecting more snow and soon I won’t be able to get out of here. The driveway and the hill will be impossible.’

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to talk to her,’ Stella said. ‘You’re her therapist – the person she’s most likely to respond to. I need to know if her father is behind this visit in any way.’

  He shook his head, still not looking directly at her. ‘Nothing she says is reliable. The critical thing is that they get her medication stabilized. She needs admission to a psychiatric unit.’

  ‘I want my jacket,’ Blue said. She had regained her colour.

  ‘Are you cold?’ Stella asked. ‘You can have one of my jumpers.’

  ‘I just want my own jacket.’

  Stella found it for her on the floor behind the chair. Blue squeezed her bound hands through the sleeves. She walked over to Max and stood right in front of him. Expecting something.

  ‘I’m going to take you to a hospital,’ Max said.

  Blue turned her small face up towards his.

  Stella felt sad for her. Blue should be enjoying her beauty, in love with a boy her own age; happy. Not inside Hilltop, tormented.

  ‘I want you to tell them what happened,’ Blue said. ‘Tell them that we were together – loads of times, in your office. That you couldn’t keep your hands off me.’

  She smiled up at him, a pale, crazed angel.

  ‘Come on,’ Max said. ‘Sit down.’ He spoke gently as he pulled her hands firmly away from his jacket and guided her back to the chair. ‘The drive across to the hospital could take up to an hour. I’m going to give you an injection before we go. It will relax you and also help with the pain in your hands.’

  ‘I don’t want an injection,’ Blue said. Her thumb was in her mouth and her eyes were glossy with tears. But she stayed still, waiting, as Max prepared two syringes and balanced them in a kidney-shaped cardboard dish, on the arm of her chair.

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ Stella said. ‘She’s already medicated to the eyeballs and I gave her a sleeping pill last night – is it safe to give her more drugs?’

  ‘Look at the state of her,’ Max said. ‘While you two have been in charge, she’s smashed a glass window and shredded her hands. Do you really expect me to take the risk that she might hurt herself again? The drive to A and E is hardly going to be a picnic in this weather as it is.’

  He had a point, Stella had to admit. It seemed typical of Max, somehow, to come in at the end stages, to take charge and to make everyone else feel incompetent. She trusted him to do the right thing, but he could be so self-assured that he verged on domineering. Clearly he did not welcome any interference.

  Stella felt ashamed at how she had failed the girl – again. She had already let Blue down once before. Her report had gone out without the crucial finding that Simpson was a psycho path. She had not reported Blue’s father to the police and so he had been free to continue to torment his family. Blue deserved to get the help she needed.

  Stella would have to wait until Blue was safely in hospital to get any details out of her husband.

  ‘I don’t like injections,’ Blue whimpered. She squirmed in the chair, tucking herself deep into the corner and pulling her knees up.

  Peter was staring at Max with an expression of open dislike. But he too did not interfere between doctor and patient.

  Max ignored Blue’s distress. He reached down to push up her sleeve. ‘It won’t hurt too much,’ he said.

  Blue twisted, pulling away from him. She swiped at Max’s hand, sending the needles, ampoules and the kidney-shaped dish clattering to the floor.

  Stella didn’t see where the piece of broken glass came from. Blue clutched it in her injured hand, holding the tip right up against Max’s throat, over his pulsing Adam’s apple. Blue strained forwards, her teeth bared in an ugly grimace, pushing the small glass shard deeper and harder into his flesh.

  Stella could not speak or move, her throat had closed, her muscles had seized up.

  Max. She was about to lose him.

  Peter was only an arm’s length away, ready to lunge at Blue – but waiting – for what?

  ‘I love you,’ Blue said. ‘I could kill you.’

  She took a deep, shuddering breath as she scraped the shard upwards until it rested against Max’s lips. For once, Max had nothing to say.

  Peter spoke: ‘Blue, just put the glass down. Step back. We’ll find a way to help you. I promise.’

  Blue kept the glass just where it was. ‘I won’t hurt him if he tells the truth,’ she said.

  ‘What truth?’ Max spoke softly, through clenched teeth. He looked a smaller man than Stella had remembered, stripped of his authority and his carefully measured distance and his medical bag.

  ‘That I’m not crazy,’ Blue said. ‘That I’m not a liar. I want you to tell them.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, Stella glimpsed Peter inching forwards. She stayed very still, dragging her eyes back to Blue’s face. She willed the girl not to lose it completely. It wasn’t too late.

  Blue moved the piece of glass down again, to Max’s Adam’s apple. She moved it from side to side, slowly, caressing him. He held his breath, stared at the ceiling.

  Lawrence Simpson’s face floated in the air in front of Stella. His dilute-blue eyes, the sadistic smile, his exquisite pleasure in her shame and her powerlessness and her suffering. Like father, like daughter. She threw her full weight at the girl, pushing her away from Max. Blue screamed as she went for Stella’s face. Stella ducked, covering her head with her arms. Blue was panting and sobbing. Stella couldn’t see, couldn’t grab hold of the bandaged hands before the shard of glass slashed at her again. Please, not my eyes.

  But Peter had the girl now, pinned against him, holding her arms at her sides.

  And Blue was quickly subdued. She didn’t struggle; the glass simply dropped from her hand to the floor.

  ‘I think you’d better take that jacket off and give it to me,’ Peter said. He stood behind the weeping girl and kept a firm grip around her as she shrugged the jacket off one side and then the other until it dropped to the floor at her feet. Stella checked the jacket for any more weapons. The zipped compartments were empty, except for a small mobile phone, which she removed and pushed into her back pocket.

  They had Blue stretched out on the floor. Stella pinned her legs down and Peter held on to her wrists.

  Max was unfazed as he retrieved his paraphernalia from the floor.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked Blue.

  Blue nodded. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

  ‘What is that stuff?’ she asked Max.

  ‘I should have explained it to you properly before,’ he said. He held up the small glass vial: ‘This one will help you to relax. The other one is a tetanus shot. It’s very important you have that so you don’t get ill from the cuts.’

  Stella felt tender towards him, and proud, as he worked to contain the frightened girl.

  ‘OK,’ Blue nodded. She was trying now, to be good and to be brave. For Max.

  Max prepared to inject his trembling patient. He lifted the needle and a few drops of fluid spurted from the tip. He pressed on her arm with the flat of his hand. Cold steel pierced her supple skin. As he pressed down on the plunger, the girl flinched with pain and gave a small cry and then covered her mouth,

  Stella felt a rush of nausea as Max withdrew the needle. He wiped away a droplet of blood. He lifted the second syringe.

  Her rational, sane self did not question his innocence. And yet
Blue’s words kept playing over and over again in her mind.

  His patients trusted him to do no harm. Max could do anything he liked to Blue, she was at his mercy.

  He was her husband and she loved him.

  When it was over, Stella and Peter let Blue go. She pushed herself up to a cross-legged sitting position and stretched out her arm. She stared at the droplet of blood that formed in the crook of her elbow and at the thick bandages around her hands. She wiggled her ravaged fingers. ‘I want my mum,’ she said.

  Stella reached out and rubbed Blue’s shoulder. Blue had no idea what lay ahead. With her history and her behaviour over the past few hours, she would not be going home for a long while. If ever. No professional would release her into the care of her mother after what she had disclosed. Stella felt terribly sad for her. What a life.

  ‘Good girl,’ Max said. ‘We’ll give the injection a few minutes to work, and then we’ll get going.’

  Blue lay down on the floor, holding her arm. She closed her eyes.

  ‘She looks semi-conscious,’ Peter said. ‘I thought you said it was some kind of muscle relaxant?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Max said. He began to issue instructions, barely looking at Blue. ‘Can you get her something dry and warm to wear? And can you do something about taping up that broken window? And see if you can get hold of an emergency window-repair service. We need to secure the house.’

  Stella got up to do what Max had asked of her, but she felt uneasy. She had become accustomed to watching over the girl and it didn’t seem right to leave her side.

  Max was Blue’s doctor; she was safe with him.

  Stella looked from Blue to Max. She could not be swayed by the girl’s bizarre and lurid allegations. She had to trust her husband, and do as he asked of her. He was all she had.

  Grove Road Clinic, May 2009

  Stella and Peter waited in an awful silence for Max to arrive. Stella was thinking about how she would explain what she had done, and the risk she had taken. The scandal could destroy the clinic. The practice would for ever be seen as the centre where someone was raped, or perhaps worse – where a psychologist slept with a patient. The investigation would no doubt close down the clinic while forensics combed the offices and interviewed the staff.