Part of me didn’t expect Erin to come back. I braced myself for a new nurse to knock on the door this morning. But Erin enters the house with a little wave to me and a hesitant smile to Mum.
I hand her a cup of tea. “About yesterday—”
“It’s my fault,” she says. “I’ve been trained to handle patients when they’re being difficult. It all happened so suddenly that I got overwhelmed.”
“Erin.” I sigh, wrapping my hand around my mug for warmth. “Mum is more than difficult; I know that. And I know that not all of it is from the Alzheimer’s. Some of her nastiness is just her. I’m so sorry about yesterday. I wish there was more I could do.”
“It’s fine,” she says. I can see the effort she’s putting into trying to sound breezy. I can see how her smile is forced. I wouldn’t want her job either.
“I’m going to take her back to the doctor soon. Maybe there’s something he can prescribe to make her calmer.”
“Oh, no,” Erin replies. “I wouldn’t want her to suffer because of me. She’s still herself a lot of the time. I’d hate to take that away from her.”
I think of Mum as herself. I think of her sharp eyes and sharper tongue. Perhaps there’s a part of me that would enjoy taking that away, but I shake the thought away. It’s a nasty, bitter thought that leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
“And don’t worry about the bruises. They seem bad, but I checked, and her movement is fine. She has quite delicate skin, as older people tend to have. I know you had to restrain her, so don’t worry about it.” I stop talking and watch as Erin’s expression changes to utter shock. Her eyes widen and she tugs on an earring.
“What bruises? I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you must have bruised her arms when you stopped her getting out of the house. Like I said, it’s fine. I know you’d never intentionally hurt Mum, and you had to stop her leaving or she might have run out into the road or worse.”
“But I didn’t restrain her.” Erin’s voice is high-pitched and agitated. There’s a red flush working its way up her neck. “I would never hurt her. She hurt me by hitting me on my arm, but I didn’t even mention it because—”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I noticed a few bruises when I put her to bed yesterday, and I presumed… I’m sure it happened some other way. Did you see her bang herself? Walk into any furniture?”
“No,” she says, rubbing a hand across her neck. “I didn’t see anything like that, and I was watching her the entire time. I don’t know how she could have hurt herself like that. I’ll take a look at them today, if you like.”
“Thanks. That would be great.”
The silence that follows is tense and awkward. Erin sips her tea without meeting my gaze. I check my phone and realise I’m going to be late for work if I don’t hurry, so I slip up the stairs. As I shimmy out of my dressing gown and turn on the shower, I try to ignore the creeping sense of unease that washes over me. Firstly, I initiated a change in our relationship by accusing Erin of hurting Mum. I hadn’t meant it to be an accusation. I was so sure that she’d had to restrain Mum that I made a presumption and put my foot in it. Secondly, if it wasn’t Erin, and Mum didn’t bang into any furniture during the day, how did she get the bruises?
*
While I usually like to get my kids to interact in the classroom, there are times when it’s nice to let them read quietly while I finish marking. Today I decide that the afternoon lesson can be half reading their books quietly to themselves, and the other half reading passages aloud to the class with a little discussion afterwards. I know that every teacher tries to get the shy kids out of their shell a little, and pretty much every teacher fails to do so, but I have a few children that I’d like to read aloud today. It’s tough for them, I know, but I worry about how they’ll interact with the world when they’re older. I remember the first time I had to speak aloud in a professional capacity and how terrified I was. I don’t want them to feel that way.
“Okay, I need some volunteers. Who’s going to read the first paragraph? How about you, Chloe?”
I ignore the other hands that go up. I know Ben will read it in a funny voice and probably insert a few fart noises. Alice will sit up straight and put on her poshest voice, showing off for the rest of the class. It’s not Alice and Ben that I worry about. It’s Chloe. The girl the other ones ignore. The girl who stares out of the window with a woeful expression.
The girl who stares at me with a look of abject terror on her face. “Which bit, Miss?” She moves around in her seat and picks up the book, pretending to search for the paragraph in question.
“At the top of the page, Chloe. It starts with ‘The penguins…’.”
She stares intently at the page. Her fingers pull the book apart, stretching the spine. She finally lifts her head and says, “Can Jessie read it?”
The class breaks out into giggles.
“That’s enough,” I say in my sternest voice. “Would it help if Jessie read the paragraph?”
Chloe nods her head up and down. My heart sinks. She’s so behind the others in literacy and numeracy that I’m not sure how I’m going to help her.
“Then you can read it as Jessie if you like.” I use my kind but serious voice to try to stop any giggling or nonsense from the rest of the class. “Off you go.”
“The…. Pen… Gins,” she begins.
Unfortunately, as she speaks as her imaginary friend Jessie, she uses an odd, nasal voice that makes most of the class spasm with barely controlled silent laughter. I give Ben an icy stare as he begins to open his mouth to speak. I shush others who can’t keep their laughter quiet.
“That’s okay, Chloe. You’re doing well.” I nod at her, encouraging her to go on when she trips over words. Finally, she comes to the end of the paragraph. “Well done, Chloe. That was great. Okay, who’s next? How about you, Alice?” A safe bet. Alice is far too in need of approval from me to make fun of Chloe’s reading. She picks up where Chloe left off, pronouncing each word with aplomb.
I hardly hear her. I’m watching Chloe. She doesn’t even appear to be aware of the rest of the class. She’s scribbling notes on scrap paper and showing them to an invisible person sat next to her. Then she smiles.
“…and that is why penguins are the only bird…”
The bell goes, snapping me out of my reverie. “Okay, guys, off to break time you go. No running in the corridor.” I wait in my seat as the children rush out of the room, finally free to laugh as loud as they want. They’re fuelled by the held-in excitement. Friends turn to each other and whisper about Chloe. Others imitate her odd voice. I wait until Chloe is passing my desk and then I ask her to stop for a moment.
“How are you, Chloe? You’re a little withdrawn from the class today.”
“I’m okay,” she says.
“You read well today. I’d like you to keep practicing your reading, okay?”
She nods.
If there’s any trace of embarrassment or sadness from today’s class, I can’t see it. She’s impassive but clearly uncomfortable talking to me. She’d rather be hidden away with Jessie in some corner of the playground.
“What about your parents? Are they okay?” I ask.
“They’re fine.” She stares down at her hands.
“Have fun at break today. Are you going to play with the others?”
She shakes her head. “Just Jessie.”
I catch movement in the corner of my eye. Alisha stands in the doorway waving.
“Okay, well, see you in class after break,” I say, dismissing Chloe.
Alisha strides into the classroom and perches on one of the front desks. She watches Chloe leave the room, shutting the door behind her like I ask the children to do if they’re last out of the classroom. I like a few moments of peace.
“That kid gives me the creeps.” She unwraps a chocolate bar and tucks in.
“I’m trying to get her to interact with the other kids, but nothing
I do works. In fact, I end up making it worse. Now they’re all teasing her.” I sigh and run my fingers through my hair.
“The parents have hired a child psychologist,” Alisha says. “She seems disturbed, if you ask me.”
“Well, at least the psychologist might be able to do something. They’ll be more help than I am, anyway.”
“Hey, you want to go for a coffee after work? I’ll get you a mocha and a bun.” Alisha waggles her eyebrows at me, trying to entice me out.
“I can’t. I need to be at home after Mum’s bad episode yesterday.”
“You need some time away from her and work,” Alisha says. “You look like you’re about to burn out.”
“I’ll be okay,” I reply, wondering whether that’s a lie.
“Be careful, Soph. You can’t fix everyone who makes you feel sorry for them.”
*
I’m playing Alisha’s words over and over in my mind as I make my way home from work. Is that what I’m trying to do? Fix everyone around me? Is that why I worry about Chloe, even though she isn’t my child? My mind is not on the road, and I cut off a driver when I pull out of a junction. There’s a loud beeping of the horn from behind me, so I put my foot down and hurry along.
With everything that’s going on, it’s only natural for my imagination to run wild. Perhaps I’m unintentionally seeking out problems where I don’t need to. Chloe has parents and a family. I should leave her in their safekeeping.
Her face is on my mind as I pull onto my street and search for a parking space. Only a few houses have driveways. The streets are cramped with cars.
Then it comes to me.
Chloe reminds me of myself when I was a child.
School was difficult for me. I didn’t have many friends; I was withdrawn. I even had an imaginary friend when I was little. What I want is to go back and help the younger version of me.
The thought is unsettling, but it’s true. I put it to the back of my mind as I park the car, unclip my seatbelt, and make my way into the house. There haven’t been any calls from Erin, so I assume everything has gone smoothly today. Still, my body is strung tight as I open the door and call out hello. I’m half expecting Erin and Mum to be going at it hammer and tongs, each trying to strangle the other, with their eyes wide and bloodshot. But all is quiet. Mum is on the sofa, zonked out in front of one of her soaps. Erin is wiping down the dining table with a cloth.
“She spilled her tea,” Erin says.
I can’t help but notice that she’s not meeting my eyes, and she’s wiping down the table rather vigorously. “Can I make you a cuppa?”
“Not today. I’ve got to get home. Josh is cooking dinner tonight.”
“Sounds lovely.”
Erin moves across the kitchen and squeezes out the cloth in the sink.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” I say. “I got the wrong end of the stick. Completely.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She puts the cloth back on the draining board and dries her hands with a towel. “Looks like your phone is ringing.” She gestures to where I left it on the kitchen side. “I’d best be off. I’ll see you in the morning.”
There’s not much more I can say, so I let her leave, hoping that she’ll forgive me after sleeping on it. Peter’s name is on my screen again. I take a deep breath. It’s time to put a stop to all this. I try to shake out the nerves, and then answer the phone.
“Hello,” I say.
“Sophie!” He sounds so excited to hear my voice that my heart almost skips a beat. “I was so worried.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t got back to you, Peter. It’s just… well, I’ve been busy with my mum.”
“That’s okay,” he says without hesitation.
“Look, I know you were hoping to meet again, but I’m really… sorry… I… umm. The thing is, I have too much going on right now. I’m pretty much caring for Mum full-time and—”
“I don’t mind,” he interrupts. “I live with my mum too. I think it’s great that you take care of her.”
“Right. And that’s nice of you, but I can’t fit anything else into my life right now.”
“What are you saying, Sophie?” I might be being oversensitive, but it sounds as if his voice has taken on an icy edge. He’s annoyed.
“I’m saying that there won’t be a second date. It’s nothing to do with you. You’re very… nice. I can’t… I can’t date right now.”
When he next speaks, it’s as though he’s talking through gritted teeth. “Then why did you complete the dating profile in the first place?”
I’m taken aback. I didn’t expect this level of hostility. I knew he was a bit odd, and the phone calls were quite intense, but now I’m actually worried. “It was nice meeting you, Peter.” My voice betrays my nerves with a slight tremor. It’s physically uncomfortable for me to deal with confrontation. “I have to go now.” And in a quiet voice, I add, “Please don’t call me again.”
I hang up, hurry through to the living room to check Mum is still asleep, then I boot up my laptop and sit at the dining table. My heart is still beating quickly as I delete my profile from the dating website. Then I lean back in my chair and try to process what just happened. Maybe I’m overreacting. He didn’t threaten me. There was nothing about what he said; it was how he said it that disturbed me.
My bones ache when I stand up to make a cup of tea. The shrill sound of the house phone startles me, and a jolt of anxious energy shoots up my spine. I place a hand on my chest to calm myself. It’s probably telemarketing.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
I scratch the back of my arm. Gooseflesh spreads over my skin.
“Who’s there?”
Still nothing.
“Peter?”
The caller hangs up.
Chapter Five
I place the phone back down on its base and step away. There are so many questions in my mind, but the one that stands out the most is: was that Peter? And if it was Peter, how did he get my home phone number?
“Who was that?” Mum’s face is slack and puffy from her slumber. She rubs sleep away from the corner of one eye and frowns at me.
“I don’t know,” I say. “They hung up.”
“Probably one of those people selling PPI insurance or whatever it is,” she says.
It’s odd to see her so lucid after a nap. She’s usually confused. But this disease is so variable. She has good moments, bad moments, good days, bad days… I can’t keep up.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “It was… I don’t know.”
Her eyes narrow. “What’s the matter with you? You’re all pale.” She takes a step towards me, and I try not to cower as her eyes scour my face, inspecting me for clues. She loves to guess when something is wrong, because she loves to be right. “You know who called.” The corners of her mouth twitch up, half smiling.
It’s amazing how one hard glare from my mother turns me into a ten-year-old girl who squirms as she forces the truth out of me. Who threw stones at the car, Sophie? Tell me. It was the neighbour’s kid, wasn’t it? You’re covering for him. I cringe away from her, expecting those strong fingers to wrap around my arm and drag me through the house, then storm next door and bang on the door. I can feel her fingernails digging into me. I close my eyes and swallow, forcing the memory away.
“I don’t know for sure,” I say when I’m composed.
“Well, whoever it is, they’ve given you the heebie-jeebies. Come on, then. Spit it out. Who is calling our house and hanging up, and why are you scared?”
“Peter,” I blurt out. “The man I met from the dating website. I think it’s him, and I don’t know how he got our home number. I only gave him my mobile number. He’s been calling me a lot, but I thought he was a bit over-keen but harmless. Then, when I told him nothing was going to happen, he sounded quite… angry.”
She sucks in a long breath and straightens her back. Her fists clench at her sides, and I take a step back. “You stupid g
irl! I told you not to meet anyone from the internet, didn’t I? I warned you this would happen. But, no, you never listen to your mother.” I go cold all over as I watch her spit the words. As always, her body is completely still as her head shakes and nods with anger. Her eyes are wide now, and the sagging skin of her cheeks wobbles as she becomes more and more agitated. “You’ve been nothing but a little idiot all these years. Going against everything I say and failing at everything—”
“That’s not… I haven’t failed… I’m a—”
“Did I say you could speak?”
There’s a moment of complete silence where I shut my mouth and wait.
Then she continues, more slowly, more deliberately. “You’re nothing but a magnet for morons. What was that dumpy fool called? Jimmy?”
“Jamie.”
“Of all the men you could choose, you went with that fat little man. I told you from the beginning that he was a loser, didn’t I? But you let him trample all over you like the good little doormat you are.” She laughs. “Of course, with that chin, you can’t hope for much more than an egg-smelling fatty like Jamie.” She imitates my voice as she says his name.
I find myself staring at my feet, like I have my entire life. Tears burn at the backs of my eyes. In the past, I’ve broken down completely and begged her to stop. But I know now that these outbursts are inevitable. Whenever she’s stressed about anything, she takes it out on me. If I can just take it, if I can let her get all this vitriol out of her system, it’ll stop, and I won’t have to worry about it for a little while.
“Get a haircut and stop dressing like an eighty-year-old librarian and you might actually find a fella.” She snorts. “Didn’t I tell you how, years ago? Didn’t I show you? I could have any man in the village if I wanted.” This was perhaps true ten years ago, when Mum was still an attractive forty-five-year-old woman. Also, she’s already had nearly every man in the village. Her affairs are the worst-kept secret in Eddington. “How did I raise you? How did you end up this frumpy prude who needs the internet for a date and only attracts perverts and idiots? What did I do as a mother to deserve a daughter like you?”
The Broken Ones Page 4
