Four Waifs on Our Doorstep

by Trisha Merry

  There were a hundred and one things I needed to do, but first I decided to give Anna a ring as we hadn’t seen her for a week.

  I remember keying in her number and looking at the clock, nine fifteen, as I waited for her to pick up her phone.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ I said, ‘I don’t know whether you were thinking of coming up today . . . you could come for lunch if you like.’

  ‘Oh, thanks. I might do, Mum . . .’

  That’s all I remember. Everything went blank from that moment. But later Anna told me I had groaned like a wounded animal and let out a long wail which set the puppy barking, then she heard my phone clatter onto the flag-stoned floor.

  26

  Repercussions

  ‘Stacey caused a lot of problems when she made an allegation against Mr Merry.’

  Psychologist’s report

  Anna drove straight over, ran into the house and found me unconscious on the kitchen floor with Poppy our golden Labrador lying beside me.

  She called for an ambulance and they came very quickly. They raced me into A & E, and straight through to Intensive Care. They thought at the time that I might have had both a heart attack and a stroke. I don’t do things by halves!

  While I was still unconscious, they did various tests and investigations and kept me in Intensive Care, where I finally woke up a couple of days later. I remember coming round gradually in a hospital bed, with a drip in my arm and all these people sat around me, crying. Oh my God! I didn’t know what was going on or why I was there, so I opened my mouth to ask but no words came out. I must have looked like a goldfish.

  I was totally confused and couldn’t work things out. I remember seeing all these strangers looking at me and trying to shoo them out.

  With a great effort, I finally managed to say the words: ‘Go away!’

  I don’t remember whether they did go that day, or what happened. I just remember my head was throbbing and my brain felt as if it was full of wet cotton wool. When I tried to move my arms, they felt heavy and wouldn’t respond how I wanted them to. I knew how to move them. I could move them, but they were uncoordinated.

  The next morning when Mike came in, I recognised him this time, and I remembered his name. Then soon after, Jane arrived, crying. I recognised her as my daughter, but I had trouble getting her name out.

  ‘J-J-Jane.’

  Then my other daughter Sally came in but, try as I might, I couldn’t remember her name. I knew she was my daughter and I was panicking. How can I not remember her name? I didn’t want her to know I couldn’t remember it, but then it came to me.

  Val and Dennis, old friends of mine, came in to visit me that afternoon. They each came straight over and gave me a hug. I couldn’t remember them at all and I felt really embarrassed that this strange man had his arm round me. The next time they came, two or three days later, I did recognise them, and we laughed about it.

  When Anna visited, I was delighted.

  ‘I’m so glad you came.’ I worked hard to say the words and my speech sounded stilted, but at least I could say a little of what was in my heart. ‘Thank you for finding me and getting me to hospital quickly.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness you rang me, because it happened while we were talking on the phone. That’s how I knew to come straight away. I don’t know whether you remember, but you had just invited me to lunch, and then you started to groan, followed by the most awful, wailing, screaming noise.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes,’ she shuddered. ‘I shall never forget it.’

  I manoeuvred my free hand onto hers. ‘Thank you for saving my life.’

  A hospital doctor came to see me after a few days and told me the results of my tests. ‘You’ve had a stroke, Mrs Merry,’ he said. ‘But, fortunately, it didn’t paralyse you.’

  Yes, I could move everything, but I couldn’t walk properly. My legs felt as if I’d lain on them badly for a few hours. They were heavy and numb and wouldn’t do quite what I wanted, and they were like that all the time that first week before gradually starting to get better. It felt like my brain wasn’t connected to my body. My balance wasn’t good either and I had to hold on to something or someone to get about.

  The staff moved me into the unit next to Intensive Care, but it was so awful being in hospital. I had to leave as soon as I could. They hadn’t washed me or given me a bath or even combed my hair, and I couldn’t eat most of the food they brought me.

  ‘I’ve got to go home,’ I said to Mike one visiting time. I don’t care if I have to walk all the way, I can’t stay another night in this place.’

  ‘But you’re not ready to go home yet,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be even less ready if I have to stay here any longer.’

  ‘But you can’t go while you’re attached to that drip.’

  ‘Tell them I want to go home and ask them to take the drip out. If they don’t come and do it, I’ll take it out myself.’

  Sally was staying at the house, so she brought in some clothes when she came to visit later that day. She helped me to get dressed and gathered up all my get-well cards to take home.

  A young doctor came in to see me. ‘I hear you want to go home, Mrs Merry,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid we are not able to discharge you yet as we don’t feel you’re well enough to leave. That’s why you’re in this special care unit.’

  ‘Well, if you won’t discharge me, I’ll discharge myself,’ I insisted.

  Mike was reluctant to aid and abet me in flouting medical opinion but of course he was happy that I would be at home with him. So he helped me down to the car and drove me away. I can’t remember the journey until he turned into our long drive, leading past some farm buildings and up to our house in the distance.

  That’s when I started panicking again. I didn’t remember the house, and when we got inside I didn’t know where to go. It was frightening not being able to remember the way around my own house. It was like a stranger’s house to me that first day. I didn’t know where anything was or how to do the everyday things I’d always taken for granted. I couldn’t even have made a cake.

  I still couldn’t walk properly. It felt very odd because I knew what to do, but I couldn’t quite do it. The family were wonderful, looking after me so well and helping me to get moving again. My speech was still rather halting and it took quite a while for me to remember all the words and names I should have known.

  The other change in me that seemed to have been brought on by this stroke was how vindictive I increasingly felt towards Stacey for the despicable way she treated Mike, which brought on his heart attack and must have contributed to my stroke too. I didn’t want to be so vehement about her, but I couldn’t seem to control my anger in those early days after I came home from the hospital. Of course, Stacey probably didn’t even know we’d both been so ill.

  About three months after I came home, a letter came through with a hospital appointment for me the following week. In the meantime, I started to remember how to do things. One day I went out and sat in the car. I looked at everything and tried it out. My memory was coming back so I went for a drive. I knew I had to be careful, but I was overjoyed that my brain was working better now and I remembered how to drive.

  At the hospital, I had scans and tests in the morning. Then a cheeky young medic explained to me what it all meant.

  ‘Your blood-pressure is that of someone in their thirties, your pulse-rate is fantastic and there is no furring in your arteries whatsoever. Look at your blood vessels compared to mine . . .’ He showed me the two scans. ‘Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.’

  ‘OK. That’s good to know.’

  ‘We’ve scanned every part of your brain and everything looks fine. So although you had all the indicators of a stroke when you were brought into Intensive Care, I don’t think you’ve had a stroke, Mrs Merry.’ He paused. ‘Have you had a lot of stress lately?’

  ‘A tad!’ I laughed. ‘Stress in spades.’

  ‘I would think
you’ve had a total protective close-down. A burnout. It happens to people in very stressful jobs and those who’ve experienced traumas. Your brain couldn’t cope any more, so it shut down to have a rest.’

  At least I didn’t have to worry about having another stroke, but it took me several months to regain full health and mobility. And my memory has never fully come back to what it used to be.

  Mike had recovered well from his heart attack, but now that I was better, he wouldn’t go out. He wouldn’t go to Tesco’s or anywhere. He didn’t want anyone to see him and he refused to go anywhere there might be children.

  Even at home, he was quieter, more withdrawn. Where he would have joked and teased before, now he became more detached in most family conversations. If I walked out of a room where Carrie and Sam were, he walked out too. He couldn’t even stay in a room with the two of them together. He was a broken man.

  I remember one day, Anna brought her baby daughter Carla to see us. I was doing all the usual things with her, trying to make her smile, playing with her feet, making funny faces. Mike sat at the other end of the long sofa, looking on. He had always been wonderful with babies before and could make them laugh quicker than me. But now he just watched from afar. I went off to put the kettle on, then Anna, bless her cotton socks, picked up Carla and plonked her down next to Mike.

  ‘I’ve got to go to the loo,’ she said as she left the room.

  ‘Trisha,’ he called me back urgently. I thought something was wrong.

  ‘You can’t leave me on my own with Carla.’

  ‘She just wants picking up, love,’ I reassured him, my heart aching, heavy with the sadness of what was lost.

  ‘Stay in the room, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I want to take a photo of you with Carla, so you just hold her on your knee.’

  ‘I can’t hold her,’ he protested, his face lined with anxiety.

  ‘Just for the photo then,’ I said. He picked her up gingerly and I pressed the button as Anna came back into the room.

  ‘You shouldn’t have left me with Carla,’ Mike said to her. ‘I had to call Trisha.’

  Anna gave him a gentle smile. ‘If I’d thought there was even an ounce of truth in that allegation, do you think I’d have brought my daughter to see you today?’

  She was an angel and I was very moved by her loving gesture. I know that, deep down, Mike was too. But it didn’t make the hurt go away.

  We hadn’t heard from Jamie for several weeks now and he didn’t return my texts or calls. I hoped he was OK. There wasn’t a day that went by without my thinking of him. I hoped he would come back to us one day, but I knew he might not and I feared what the future would bring for him. After all those years of looking after his younger siblings, he needed someone to care about him.

  I know it sounds ridiculous, after all the harm she had done to us, both Mike and me, over the previous few months, but I never stopped worrying about Stacey, either. I couldn’t shed the anger and resentment, but I didn’t stop loving her. I couldn’t talk about it with anyone. If I ever tried to broach the subject with any of the rest of the family, it was like a brick wall. I couldn’t even mention her name.

  ‘I’ll never forgive her for what she did,’ said Jane, and the others all agreed. I didn’t feel I could forgive her either. It was such a malicious betrayal and the pain of it was still too raw. I just wanted to know where she was and whether she was safe.

  One morning, when the postman came, I went to pick up the mail from the mat, and there was one with handwriting I recognised. I tore it open.

  Alright Mum. It’s Jamie. I just wanted to say sorry for not speaking to you since Christmas . . . It is just that I think you and Dad want nothing to do with me . . . Did you have a good birthday? How are the kids? I have stopped drinking now and I am living with my girlfriend. She is lovely and you would like her. She has put me on the right track again. One of the reasons I am writing to you is to tell you that you’re going to have another grandchild. I am hoping you don’t take that in a bad way because I want my child to know all his family, including you, and not have a life like I did.

  I am sorry Mum and I hope you and Dad can give me one more chance because it hurts so much not having you and Dad there for me. I love you Mum and Dad.

  Please write back or call me as soon as possible.

  Love you loads,

  Jamie XXXXXXXXXX

  The tears came to my eyes as I reached for the phone, so relieved that he had come back to us. It was wonderful to be in regular contact with him again. He had a new life now, gearing up to become a father for real, not just a big brother acting as a father. This time he was confident he could love and protect his child and meet his needs, without the dangers he had battled in his own past. We all looked forward to the birth, and when he arrived we welcomed Jordan with joy. He was a gorgeous baby.

  Sometimes I would call Jamie if I was going into town.

  ‘Do you want to meet for a coffee, Jay?’ He was doing casual work, so he was often free during the day, and he always wanted to know how the other three were getting on. Knowing Stacey so well, he was as worried as I was.

  ‘I know she’s been awful to you both, Mum. And you didn’t deserve any of that. But she’s not a hundred per cent bad.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said nodding. ‘I know. Always the actress!’ I stirred my coffee. ‘Funny girl.’

  Jamie gave me a quizzical look.

  ‘No,’ I assured him. ‘I haven’t forgiven her for what she did. I don’t think I ever could. But she is one of us, one of the family. I’ve heard she is sleeping rough. I just want to know where she is and how she’s coping.’

  He looked down and shuffled his feet, then met my gaze. ‘She’s in Ashbridge, Mum. I saw one of her old friends a couple of weeks ago. She told me Stacey’s having a hard time and she’s been quite poorly.’

  ‘Promiscuous?’

  ‘Yes.’ His shoulders drooped.

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Thank you for being honest with me, Jay. It doesn’t paint a pretty picture, does it?’

  ‘But she’s tough, Mum. She’ll survive. I’ve been there, and look how I’ve turned my life around.’

  ‘Yes, but it sounds like she’s fallen lower than you did.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, at least now I know where she is, and I know she’s alive. Maybe that will help me sleep a little better tonight.’

  But, of course, it didn’t. This news preyed on my mind almost as much as my constant anguish and fury with her for damn near destroying her father. Would either of us ever get beyond that?

  27

  Reaching Out

  ‘I hope you get this and will respond.’

  From my email to Stacey

  After a restless night I woke before dawn with one word shouting in my head: ‘Ashbridge’. That was where Jamie had said Stacey was. And I knew she was homeless, but where?

  This was still going through my head as I parked the car in town that morning and walked up Weston Road. As I approached a hamburger place my gaze froze on a girl sitting on an old coat on the pavement, with a dog by her side. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought it was Stacey.

  Jamie had told me that she was in Ashbridge, not here, and anyway I could see that this girl wasn’t Stacey, but I couldn’t stop staring. It could be her. She might be sitting just like this in a street in Ashbridge, begging like this girl.

  The rest of the day I was mesmerised by this girl’s image, but with Stacey’s face. I couldn’t get her out of my head. I knew what I would have to do.

  The following morning, without telling anyone, I went over to Ashbridge, drove around a bit without seeing her, then parked the car, with the idea of just walking the streets, imagining that I would somehow come across her. As I walked, I remembered someone telling me they thought Stacey might be at the YMCA, so I turned the corner into that street and walked towards it.

  I strained my eyes to se
e if she might be one of a group of young people smoking outside the front of the building. As soon as I recognised her, she looked in my direction, saw me coming and ran off, disappearing into the distant crowd. I’d caught only a glimpse of her, but my fears were realised when I saw her pasty face and her startled gaze in that moment when her eyes met mine.

  Right, OK, I thought. She obviously doesn’t want to see me. Or perhaps she daren’t. I’ll leave it. So I went back to the car and set off home again, going over and over those seconds of recognition and her running away.

  Back home again, I just sat and thought . . . and the tears began to flow. Mike and I have always had one another, through thick and thin. Sally and Jane had both had bad starts in their lives, leaving their birth families within days of their births, but they’ve always had us. And Stacey, even though she was with us all those years, now had nobody.

  If Mike had died, with all of this still unresolved between them . . . I took a long breath in. And if I’d died when they thought I had the stroke, there would have been a day when she would come out of it all and she’d have to live with that guilt. I sobbed uncontrollably. It felt like I was putting a nail in her coffin . . . and I couldn’t do it.

  I rang Jamie in the hope that he had a contact number for her. He was wary at first, but he gave it to me and I texted her. I just wanted to know why . . . why she’d done it.

  But she didn’t reply.

  A few weeks later, I had a phone call from Lawrence, our new solicitor.

  ‘Katy has sent me all the papers she compiled the first time around and, now that we have some new funding, I’m keen to restart work on the case against Social Services for you.’

  ‘What are the chances, do you think?’

  ‘I’ve read through quite a lot of what Katy sent me and I can already see you’ve got a case. You’ve definitely got a case.’

  ‘Phew!’ I was so relieved after the rock-bottom disappointment of Katy pulling out because the money had all gone. I still didn’t understand that, but never mind.