Do Me No Harm

by Julie Corbin

  ‘And thank you, Emily,’ I say, turning towards her. She is petite, no more than five feet tall, and she leans in to me as I give her a grateful hug. ‘Without your help he would have been in a far worse state when the ambulance arrived. And then who knows how it would have panned out?’

  ‘I’m glad I could help. It was horrible to see him like that.’ She gives an involuntary shudder, her eyes bleak. Her mascara has run and she’s wiped it to the sides so that grey streaks track into her hairline. ‘I was really scared.’

  ‘You did brilliantly,’ ‘You didn’t look scared,’ ‘You were great,’ the boys say all at the same time, and I can’t help but smile. Emily is often round at our house and I know how popular she is with them all.

  ‘I learnt first aid in fourth year but never imagined it would come in handy. I’m planning to become a doctor actually.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘And have you applied to any medical schools?’

  She nods. ‘I’m hoping for a place at Glasgow, dependent on next year’s exam results.’

  ‘Good for you! It’s not easy to get into medical school these days.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ She stares off towards the main road, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. ‘I’m really glad Robbie’s okay again but I should be getting home. My parents will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Of course. Let me call a couple of taxis.’ I glance at Simon and Ashe. ‘Tell me where you all live and we can work out the best routes.’

  ‘We can get the night bus,’ Simon says.

  ‘No, really.’ I already have my mobile out of my bag and am dialling City Cabs. ‘I appreciate the effort you’ve made to come and support Robbie.’

  ‘We’re the West End,’ Simon says, pointing to Ashe and then himself.

  ‘And I’m Murrayfield,’ says Emily. ‘So it makes sense for us to share one.’

  I make the call and the controller promises two taxis within ten minutes. The boys talk about football and Emily asks me whether I plan to go to anything at this summer’s festival. I say I haven’t seen the programme yet and she tells me about a couple of the fringe events she’s interested in. We’re just discussing the merits of various venues when the first taxi pulls up. I offer it to Emily and the boys, hand the driver the fare and say to Emily, ‘Listen, if ever you want some work experience in a GP’s practice, let me know.’

  ‘I will.’ She smiles at Mark and me. ‘See you soon.’ As the taxi pulls away, all three of them wave to us through the back window.

  Mark’s kicking a small stone with his right foot, balancing it on the end of his toes then sending it up into the air. His T-shirt is still stained with Robbie’s blood but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him any more. ‘You’re not going to tell Mum about this, are you, Liv?’

  ‘I think I’ll have to, don’t you?’

  ‘She’s not going to be happy.’ He lets his foot drop and the stone rolls off into the gutter. ‘I’ll be grounded for about a month.’

  ‘Unfortunately, it might get worse before it gets better.’ I fold my arms across my chest. ‘The thing is, Mark, Dr Walker’s sure that Robbie ingested a fairly large quantity of GHB.’

  He stares at me blankly.

  ‘We need to find out how this could have happened.’

  ‘The doctor must be wrong.’

  ‘He’s too experienced to be wrong. And if you and Robbie are telling the truth—’

  ‘We are telling the truth!’ He tugs at his hair. ‘Jeez! Why does nobody believe us?’

  ‘Because it’s more likely he took it himself, and is lying about it, than someone else gave it to him.’

  ‘He’s not lying.’

  ‘So how did it get into his body?’

  He thinks for a moment, doesn’t come up with anything.

  ‘I’m wondering whether his drink was spiked,’ I say.

  The stone is back on his toes, teetering and then falling. ‘Except that none of our group would do that,’ he says.

  ‘So you can see why people will think Robbie was trying the drug, took too much and ended up collapsing.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He glances at me through the floppy pelt of his hair. ‘But you believe us, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, as it happens. Even although you lied to me about where you were spending the evening.’

  ‘That was kind of more of a white lie.’

  ‘A white lie is when you’re trying not to hurt someone’s feelings.’

  He screws up his face.

  ‘But, anyway, if Robbie’s drink was spiked then it’s a crime and it needs to be reported to the police.’

  ‘Shit.’ Mark’s mouth hangs open and he rolls back on to his heels. ‘Mum will go fruit loops if I get expelled.’

  ‘Why would you get expelled?’

  ‘We shouldn’t have been in the pub and if the police start asking questions . . .’ He gives a resigned sigh. ‘The head’s been freaking out about drink and drugs and fake IDs. It gives the school a bad reputation. There’ll be zero tolerance if we get caught.’

  ‘Well . . .’ It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, You should have thought of that before you went into the pub. In fact, if they had, Robbie wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed recovering from the after-effects of an overdose. But I don’t say this. It’s neither the time nor the place to start berating him. ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. If -necessary your mum and I will go to see Mr Wellesley.’

  A taxi screeches around the bend and comes to a halt in front of us, its diesel engine idling noisily at the kerbside. We climb in, I shout my address to the driver and we begin the fifteen-minute drive home. For the first few minutes Mark’s quiet, staring out of the window as the cab speeds through streets, empty of all but the odd cat slipping through the shadows. We pass by rows of darkened tenement buildings, their rooftops silhouetted against a sky that’s bright with an almost full moon and a cascade of tiny stars. The traffic lights are with us and the taxi keeps up a steady thirty miles an hour; then the driver takes a corner at speed and Mark and I are thrown together on the seat.

  ‘He thinks he’s in a rally car,’ Mark says as we both use the handles above the doors to pull ourselves upright again.

  ‘I expect he wants to get home too,’ I say. ‘The lucrative time of night is long past.’

  ‘So, do you think . . .’ Mark sighs and looks around him. ‘I can’t believe Robbie almost died.’ He slumps forward and rests his forearms on his thighs. ‘It’s such crazy shit.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’ An echo of the fear that gripped me in A & E returns and the air in the taxi cools. I take my cardigan out of my bag and cover the goose bumps on my arms. ‘Was there anyone in your group who doesn’t like Robbie? Or thought it would be funny to spike his drink?’

  ‘No, we all get on okay. Well . . . like there’s Dave Renwick but Robbie and him are cool now.’

  I lean forward, mimicking his posture, my arms and face level with his. ‘And was Dave in the pub?’

  ‘We’re all mates now. He wouldn’t do anything like that.’ He frowns, as if he’s having trouble processing the whole thing, and I realise it’s better to wait until he’s had a sleep. I don’t want to force him to speculate, so that he ends up coming up with what he thinks might have happened rather than with what did happen.

  The taxi comes to a stop outside our house. I pay the driver and we walk up the path, the scent of overgrown honeysuckle worth breathing in deeply for, cleansing me of the smell of blood and vomit and other people’s sweat. I unlock the front door into the porch where shoes and bags take up most of the floor space. I move as much as I can to one side with my foot and then we go inside the hallway where our dog Benson immediately launches himself on top of Mark. Benson is a four-year-old Jack Russell terrier who has a kamikaze streak that has him leaping off stairs. He is full of canine charm, a one-off, and unlike most small dogs he’s not prone to incessant barking. We all love him.

  ‘I won’t wake you in the morni
ng, Mark,’ I say. ‘I’ll fetch Lauren and Robbie and we’ll be back after lunch. Then I thought we could all have a relaxing afternoon together.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ He brings Benson’s wriggling body off his shoulders and on to the floor where he tickles him into submission.

  ‘The emphasis is on together,’ I say. ‘Because I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.’

  ‘Cheers, Liv.’ He stands in front of me, his shoulders sloping, head lurching forwards on his neck. ‘I’m really sorry about everything. I know you thought we were just hanging out round at my place and then coming back here.’

  ‘I don’t appreciate being lied to,’ I say.

  ‘We shouldn’t have done that.’ He takes a step closer and hugs me awkwardly. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘No, it won’t.’ I give him a friendly cuff around the ears and push him towards the stairs. ‘Off to bed and don’t forget to clean your teeth.’

  I go into the living room and sit down next to a toppling pile of ironing that’s waiting to be done. I rarely wear high shoes and my feet are killing me, so I bring them up beside me on the sofa and massage the soles until they feel as though I’ll be able to walk without them hurting. Benson jumps up too, his button brown eyes fixed on my face as he waits for me to give him a clue as to what’s happening next. ‘What are we going to do about Robbie, Benson? This has been a bad scare. A very, very bad scare.’ Benson’s eyes soften. He can do kamikaze but he can also do comfort. He rests his head on my lap and stares up at me. ‘How could this have happened? Do you think somebody wanted to scare him?’ He gives a sympathetic, throaty growl. ‘Or maybe the drug was meant for someone else and it got into his drink by mistake?’ I tickle the spot between his ears. ‘I don’t know what to think. I don’t know—’ The phone starts to ring and I jump, then stumble the few paces across the room and grab the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘I’m calling to give you an update.’

  It’s only Phil. My shoulders immediately relax. I thought it might be Dr Walker telling me that Robbie’s condition had deteriorated.

  ‘I’m leaving the hospital now. Robbie’s obs are stable.’

  ‘That’s a big relief.’

  ‘He’s fast asleep.’

  I bet he is. Eyes tight shut so that he doesn’t have to answer any of Phil’s questions.

  ‘I asked Bob Nichols in neuro about Walker.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s only been in the post six months, so that explains why neither of us knows him. He’s very experienced. Worked in St Thomas’s in London for a long time. Even spent three stints in Afghanistan as part of the volunteer doctor service.’

  My gut feeling was right then.

  ‘Have you spoken to Leila and Archie?’

  ‘Mark’s sleeping here tonight. I’ll speak to them tomorrow when they get back from Peebles.’

  ‘What’re they doing in Peebles?’

  ‘They’re staying at the Hydro. A weekend of luxury.’ I pause. ‘It’s Archie’s birthday. They’ve been looking forward to it for ages.’

  This cuts no ice with Phil. ‘They need to know what Mark and Robbie have been up to.’

  ‘I know and, as I said, I’ll call Leila tomorrow.’

  ‘Did you know the boys were going to a pub?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Where did they say they were going?’

  ‘Round to a friend’s and then back home.’

  ‘And you went out?’

  ‘Robbie’s seventeen, Phil. In six months he’ll be eighteen.’

  ‘We need to have a serious talk, Olivia. Not only is our son lying about how he intends to spend his evenings, but he’s drinking in pubs – presumably with fake ID – and, worst of all, he’s taking illegal drugs.’

  ‘I don’t believe Robbie took any drugs.’

  ‘You think Walker has the wrong diagnosis?’

  ‘No,’ I say slowly. ‘What happened to Robbie is consistent with a GHB overdose. I accept that. What I don’t accept is that he took the GHB himself.’

  ‘And your opinion is based on what?’

  ‘Both boys are adamant that they didn’t take any drugs.’

  ‘Olivia.’ He sighs. ‘Teenagers lie.’

  ‘I’m aware of that. But based on what I know about our son, I think he’s telling the truth.’

  ‘And yet he lied about how he was spending the evening?’

  ‘In his mind, I think there are different types of lying.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that he doesn’t want me to forbid him from going to the pub so he lies about that. As far as he’s concerned, he’s not putting himself in any danger and I’m never going to find out, so what does it matter?’ I sit back down and pull my knees into my chest. ‘But taking drugs to the point of collapse is something else. Think about the sort of child he’s always been . . .’

  ‘Robbie’s no longer a child. And, as you well know, drug taking is something that needs to be swiftly addressed.’

  ‘He’s not impulsive or reckless,’ I continue. ‘He mixes with a good group of kids who work hard, play sport. I mean . . . Just take a moment to think about it, Phil.’

  ‘I am taking a moment to think about it and the conclusion I’m coming to is that you want to believe he’s not lying because it saves you from having to take control.’

  ‘What?’ I drop my feet on to the floor and stand up again.

  ‘Both Robbie and Lauren need more active parenting.’

  ‘I am an active parent,’ I say, incredulous. ‘I talk to them; I care for them. I cook and clean, make sure they’ve done their homework and are behaving respectfully towards others. I take them out, give them opportunities and have fun with them. But most of all, most of all,’ I repeat, my voice cracking with pent-up emotion, ‘I love them, Phil. Absolutely and completely.’

  ‘Erika says—’

  ‘It’s two in the morning,’ I snap. ‘I’m hard pushed to care about what Erika thinks at midday on a sunny Sunday, never mind at this time of night.’

  ‘Olivia, this—’

  ‘Good night, Phil.’ I put the phone down and climb the stairs to bed, quietly seething. I know I’m on a hiding to nothing trying to get Phil to see my point of view, but I’m not going to allow him to bully me into disbelieving Robbie. I also know that, objectively, it looks as though I’m being naïve, but I do believe Robbie. Yes, teenagers lie to their parents, but not all the time.

  Neither am I going to let Phil twist this around so that he feels justified in pushing for shared custody. When we separated we drew up a custody agreement and he requested that Robbie and Lauren stay with him every other weekend. That’s what he wanted and that’s what he got. But recently he’s been asking to spend more time with the children and it’s been the children themselves who prefer to stick to every other weekend. They’re more comfortable here, in this house, with me, than they are with Phil and his girlfriend Erika. And, like it or not, Phil will just have to accept that.

  Next morning I collect Lauren from her friend Amber’s house. There’s a gaggle of giggling girls in the living room and they all shout hello to me apart from Lauren. She says an effusive goodbye to each of her friends, grabs her stuff and follows me out of the room.

  ‘Why do you always have to be the first mum to arrive?’ She throws her overnight bag on the back seat and then launches herself in beside me. ‘It’s so annoying.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lauren, but we have to go to the hospital and I was worried that if I picked you up afterwards I would be too late.’

  ‘The hospital?’ It’s a wail of refusal. ‘This is not my Sunday to be with Dad.’

  ‘I know. We’re not going to Dad’s hospital.’ I swivel towards her in the seat, determined to do this carefully. Lauren and Robbie are close. She’s six years younger than him, which could mean he would find her a pain, but in fact there’s always been a noticeable lack of friction between them and, good times or bad, they have fun t
ogether. I know that when I tell her about what’s happened she’ll be worried about Robbie and cross with me for not letting her know immediately. ‘I have something to tell you, but before I do, I want you to know that there’s no need to worry.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She’s frowning but there’s a tremble close to her lip because, underneath all this attitude, she’s afraid.

  ‘Robbie got into a bit of trouble last night.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘He had to spend the night in hospital.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He collapsed in town. Mark called an ambulance.’

  ‘Why?’ she shouts back. ‘Why did he collapse?’

  I tell her what happened. I don’t bring emotion into it. I don’t say he could have died. I don’t say that it looks as if his drink was spiked. But what I do say is still enough to make her face blanch and her lips shake.

  ‘He’s my brother. You should have called me.’

  ‘I thought about it, but it was already after midnight—’

  ‘I wasn’t asleep!’

  ‘And I felt that A & E wasn’t a good place for you to be.’

  ‘Like I don’t know about hospitals!’ she shouts. ‘I’ve spent hours waiting for Dad and saying hello to his patients. People who dribble and cry and look completely weird.’

  ‘Yes, I know but—’

  ‘And, and Robbie would have wanted me there.’ Her eyes are ice blue and she uses them to good effect, pinning me to the seat with an arctic glare.

  I break eye contact with her, start the engine and leave Amber’s street behind while Lauren stares straight ahead, completely still apart from her hands that busy themselves on her lap. She has developed a habit of tearing at the edges of her nails, creating hangnails for her to bite and chew on. Often she does this with such intensity that she makes them bleed. Occasionally she lets me take her hands and rub calendula cream into them but mostly she keeps them out of my reach.

  ‘I thought that on the way to the hospital we could stop at the supermarket and buy all Robbie’s favourite food,’ I say, glancing over at her. She’s still showing me her profile. ‘What do you think?’