“It started a few months ago,” I said.
“Months?” the doctor’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah, but nothing bad. Just subtle changes at first. Jonathan blamed the clumsiness on her age.”
“Typical five-year-old, doc,” Jon said. “Too impatient to get where she wants to go. She climbs over anything in her path. I thought her falls were nothing more than that.”
The doctor nodded. “So what changed?”
“This weekend, her coordination deteriorated. She struggled to feed herself and she was so clumsy she could fall over her own feet from standing still.” I bent forward and stroked Emily’s face.
“That’s why we made an appointment first thing this morning.” Jon said.
I nodded. “She slept most of the day, but by this afternoon, when I tried to wake her up, her speech had become slurred. She sounded drunk. Obviously I panicked and rang Jonathan, insisting he come home immediately. I wanted to take her straight to the hospital, but he said we should keep the appointment.”
“Do you want to pop Emily onto the table and let me have a quick look at her?” He indicated the examination table in a curtained-off area at the side of the room.
Jonathan carried Emily to the table and tried to lie her down, but she held her body stiff and refused to cooperate.
“Filly, I want Filly,” she cried.
“Shit,” I said, looking around. “Where’s Filly, Jon?”
“At home?” He shrugged.
“No, she had her in the truck.”
“She must still be in the truck, then.”
“I’ll check,” I said. “Emily, let the nice doctor have a look at you and I’ll go and get Filly for you. Okay?”
She nodded, her eyes closing again as Jonathan managed to lie her down.
I suddenly noticed Jon’s face had lost all colour and his normally vibrant grey eyes were dark with black smudges beneath them.
As I stepped through the double doors, a loud crash rang out from the back of the surgery, immediately followed by a car alarm.
I raced down the steps and along the side of the old brick building.
The door to Jonathan’s truck stood open, and a man was leaning inside.
I stopped mid-stride. My insides dropped as my hand flew to my mouth. The outrage of this person stealing our belongings propelled me forward.
I grabbed the collar of his red and black checked lumberjack shirt and yanked him backwards.
“Hey!” he yelled, as he found himself flat on his back on the concrete.
I recognized him immediately.
“Well, well. Why am I not surprised? Shane Logan,” I said.
He and his family were well known in the area. None of them had had any education, and probably had never done an honest day’s work in their lives.
“Fuck off, bitch,” he said. His lip lifted in a sneer, and hatred filled his eyes.
“You cheeky little—” Adrenalin coursed through me, exacerbated by all the pent-up anxiety of the past few weeks. A guttural roar escaped me as I smacked him around the head with the flat of my hand.
“Victoria. Stop!” Jonathan yelled as he appeared around the corner. Emily was wrapped around his neck, her pathetic little arms holding on for dear life as Jon ran across the car park towards us.
“Yes, Victoria. Stop,” the scumbag mimicked like a child. He was still on the ground, one arm raised above his head as he cowered beneath it, trying to scuttle away from me.
Emily began to cry.
“Call the police, Jon. This piece of shit smashed your window and dismantled your stereo,” I said, trying to control the urge to punch the cocky waste of space on his scruffy, ginger goatee. I dug my nails into my palms.
Emily sobbed. “Filly, I want Filly.”
I reached into the back seat and plucked out the scruffy rag doll Emily carried everywhere. I threw it to Jonathan, and Emily snatched it from him and held it to her chest. Jonathan continued to bounce her on his hip and stroke her hair, trying to calm her down.
I turned back to the nasty creature at my feet. “Stand up!”
“Fuck off,” he said with a sneer—or maybe it was his pathetic attempt at a smile.
“Watch your mouth, boy,” Jonathan said, pulling Emily’s head into his chest and covering her exposed ear.
“You fuck off too, dick’ead.” Shane stood up and spun away from us.
“Come back here, Shane,” I said.
“Up yours, MILF. You know—Mum I’d like to …” He thrust his disgusting pelvis in my direction, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes rolling in mock ecstasy.
“Enough!” Jonathan stepped towards him. “Shift yourself now, Shane, before I kick your arse myself.”
“OOO-ooh.” Shane’s eyebrows rose as he sneered at Jonathan. He sniffed noisily, then hoicked a large glob of spit on the ground at Jonathan’s feet before sauntering off.
My stomach churned. “You dirty little … Jonathan, call the police!” I said, approaching Shane.
Shane rounded the end of the truck then ran, pausing briefly to flip us the finger.
“Why would you just let him go?” I turned on my husband, fuming.
Jonathan had opened the boot of the car and threw a towel at me.
“Clear the glass from the seat while I fasten Emily in,” he said, as though nothing had occurred.
His serious no-nonsense tone worried me. I stared at him, completely lost for words.
“I’ll tell you when we get home.”
“What did the doc … ?”
He tipped his head towards our daughter, his eyebrows raised. “When we get home.”
***
Once Emily was snuggled up on the sofa with her favourite fleecy pink blanket, watching a DVD, Jonathan nodded his head towards the kitchen.
I got up and followed him.
“Now can you tell me why you did that?” I was stalling, not yet ready for him to tell me what the doctor said that got him so worked up.
“Did what?” A puzzled expression crossed his face.
“Did what? Are you serious? He smashed your window, for Christ’s sake. He’d have had your stereo and anything else he could get his thieving little mitts on if I hadn’t stopped him.” I couldn’t believe he didn’t seem to care. I shook my head, bewildered.
“Oh, that.” He rubbed a hand over his chiselled, bristly jaw.
“Yes, that!” I said, exasperated.
“To be honest, Shane Logan is the least of our worries right now, Vic,” he said, his eyes filled with concern.
“Why? What did the doctor say?” I braced myself for bad news. Spine-tingling dread began spreading through my entire body.
The kitchen door opened and Frank, Jonathan’s father, shuffled in. He froze as he realised we were deep in conversation.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Frank said, and turned to leave.
“No, Dad, come in. You need to hear this too.”
“Hear what?” I shivered as each tiny hair on the back of my neck stood to attention.
Frank closed the door and, leaning heavily on his stick, limped over to stand beside his only son.
Jon cleared his throat.
“Doctor Davies agrees with you, Vic. He’s going to refer Emily to a specialist for tests.” His eyebrows furrowed, and a pained expression filled his eyes.
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” I cried, grabbing Jon’s arm to steady myself.
I’d been saying she was sick for weeks, and Jon insisted I was overprotective, but I knew. Call it mother’s intuition— call it what the hell you like—but I knew.
“Hey, come here, Vic. It still might be nothing.” Jonathan pulled me into his arms.
I buried my head into his chest, trying to seek comfort from the familiar scent of him. But I could hear his heart hammering, and I knew he too was terrified.
“I’m confused,” Frank said. “What does this mean?”
“Let’s not speculate, Dad. Best to w
ait for the specialist’s verdict.”
***
After putting Emily to bed, I ran a bath. Then I lay immersed in coconut-scented bubbles until I was shivering cold and my skin was in danger of becoming as wrinkled as a walnut.
Wrapped in a fleecy dressing gown with my long brown hair twisted in a towel, I popped my head into Emily’s room. She was asleep. I crept to her side and bent to kiss the top of her head and my stomach contracted.
As I turned to leave, a little voice whispered, “Goodnight, Mummy.”
“Goodnight, my precious girl. I love you.”
“How much?”
“To the moon and back.”
Emily’s tinkling laughter filled my ears and broke my heart.
I closed the door behind me, and then turned, pressing my back against it and sighing noisily.
A movement down the hallway made me turn with a start.
Frank stood half-in, half-out of his bedroom door, eyeing me, tentatively.
Frank was over six feet tall with broad shoulders, a rugged complexion and a head of thick greying hair. He was still a handsome and distinguished looking man despite the ravages of the stroke. Always very capable and powerful, he’d run the farm single-handed for years, only employing casual staff at the busiest times.
He’d also had a homekill butchery business that he’d operated from a converted old stone barn at the back of the property.
Finding himself bed-bound and helpless had almost been enough to kill him in itself, but between us, we’d managed. Now he was slowly regaining some independence.
“Hi, Frank.”
“Sorry to disturb you. I keep intruding on your private moments.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re as much a part of this as anyone.” I pulled the towel from my head and threw it over my shoulder, running my fingers through my wet hair.
“She’ll be fine, lass. Jon’s right. We should wait and see what they say at the hospital.”
I nodded, my lips trembling. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Frank.”
“Come here.” He walked towards me, his walking stick supporting his weak right side. I met him halfway, drawing strength from his calm, controlled, all-encompassing hug.
Frank was the closest thing I had to a parent.
Both of mine had died years ago, leaving me feeling alone and abandoned at an early age. I had no other family, none that I knew of anyway. Maybe there were some distant cousins knocking about in Puerto Rico, where I was born, but nobody significant.
Frank cleared his throat. “You okay now?”
“Yes, thanks. I needed that,” I said.
“There are plenty more where that came from, you know.”
I smiled at him. “Come on. I’ll race you downstairs. Last one down makes a cuppa.”
I sped off, listening to him rant and curse, and then chuckle.
Mother Knows Best (Novella): A Psychological Thriller Novella Page 7
