Do Me No Harm

by Julie Corbin

  ‘Okay.’ I hear the wooden boards creak as his feet hit the floor.

  ‘They’ll be ready in five minutes.’ I take a deep breath, go down the stairs and stop in front of Lauren’s door. Act normal. ‘Seven o’clock, Lauren! Time to get up!’ No answer. ‘Is it okay if I come in?’ Still no answer, so I turn the door handle and peek my head around the door, seeing first her empty bed and then Lauren herself, sitting at her desk, in full school uniform, her hair brushed and her bag next to her feet. ‘You’re up already! Well done!’ I come into her room and stand next to her. ‘I’m making waffles for breakfast.’ She doesn’t look at me. She’s keeping her eyes focused on the pile of torn-up newspaper. ‘Lauren, I’m sorry about last night.’ I hunker down beside her and look up into her pinched and solemn face. ‘I know you must be very disappointed in me.’ I reach my hand out towards her but she shrinks away from my touch. ‘Lauren?’

  ‘I want to stay with Dad.’

  ‘I know you’re hurt. I understand that.’

  ‘I want to stay with Dad!’ she shouts, the force of her words sending me backwards into a sitting position on the floor. Her face is a challenging glare and I realise that being apologetic isn’t going to work. It looks as if she’s been stewing in her own anger and disappointment all night.

  I bring myself back up on to my feet and say, ‘Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.’ Then I leave her bedroom door open and go back to the kitchen, beating the batter with a whisk until some of my nervous anxiety dissipates.

  Robbie appears moments later and collapses on to a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘Lauren still in a mood?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘She’ll get over it.’ He tips cornflakes and milk into a bowl. ‘It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all.’

  ‘The trouble is, though, at her age you see your parents as good people and first her dad has disappointed her and now I have. Big time.’ I drop batter on to the hot waffle iron. ‘So big, in fact, that she’s saying she wants to go and live with your dad.’

  ‘No way.’ He shovels a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. ‘She hates being there. Erika’s too strict and they only ever play classical music. It’s like being at a funeral.’

  ‘Still, I think Lauren sees it as the lesser of the evils.’

  ‘Have we got that squirty cream that comes out of the can?’

  ‘We do.’ I fetch it out of the fridge and show it to him.

  ‘That’ll bring her down. I’ll go and get her.’

  I stand at the bottom of the stairs and listen as he tries to persuade her to come for breakfast. I can hear what he’s saying but not Lauren’s replies. ‘Come on, Lauren. Don’t be so moody.’ A couple of seconds, and then, ‘So Mum made a mistake! It’s not the end of the world. She’s still our mum.’ Almost a full minute before Robbie says, ‘Everybody has to lie sometimes! Mum’s no different.’ And then, finally, ‘You know how much you like waffles. And we’ve got that cream as well. Are you coming, or not?’

  I’m back in the kitchen by the time they both appear. I arrange a cluster of food on the breakfast bar: half a dozen waffles, cream, sugar and a big pile of strawberries. Lauren gets on to her stool and stares down at the surface but doesn’t put anything on her plate. I hold a glass of orange juice out towards her. She doesn’t take it, so Robbie does, putting it directly in front of her hand. Then he puts a waffle on her plate and one on his own. ‘Cream?’ He shakes the can beside her and she moves her head away. ‘Suit yourself.’ He squirts some cream on to his waffle, layers strawberries on top and bites into it.

  I sit down opposite them with a coffee and it triggers Lauren into speech.

  ‘Everything that’s been happening in our family is because of you,’ Lauren says, her eyes glittering with an intensity that makes me wince. ‘We were all really worried and it turns out this is all your fault.’ I don’t remember her ever looking at me with so much hatred, but at least she is looking at me now. It feels like an advance on being ignored.

  ‘I know. And, believe me—’

  ‘You lie. You say that Emily’s a liar but you lie too.’ She grabs my bag and pulls the Sanderson Academy brochure out of it. ‘You said this was for a patient of yours, but it wasn’t, was it?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. I was following clues and I ended up there.’

  ‘That’s not what you said to me.’

  ‘Parents don’t always tell their children everything because it isn’t always appropriate.’

  ‘So you lie instead?’

  ‘Not usually, I—’

  ‘Everyone thinks you’re great,’ she says. ‘My friends think you’re the best mother ever. You’re always nice to everyone. You do charity work. You won that award.’ She pushes her plate away and stands up. ‘I thought you were great too, but you’re not.’ She picks up her school bag. ‘No wonder Dad left you.’

  ‘Lauren!’ Robbie says, looking from her to me and back again. ‘Steady on!’

  Lauren’s not listening. She’s opening the front door and is out on the path just as Leila pulls up and sounds her horn. Robbie grabs the rest of the waffles and I carry his school bag out to the car. Leila’s doing the school run this morning and already has her four children in the back of her seven-seater. She sees me coming and gives me a hopeful look. We haven’t spoken since I found out she’d lied about Sandy’s baby, but that’s of little consequence now, and I come up to her open window and say quietly, ‘Can we talk today? I could really do with a friend.’

  ‘Of course!’ She jumps out of the car to hug me. ‘Archie told me you’d called. I’m glad you’ve forgiven me. I will never, ever lie to you again. Cross my heart and hope to die.’ She moves her finger in a cross-shaped motion over her chest, and looks at me with earnest eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ She holds my shoulders. ‘You look like you’ve been crying.’

  ‘I have. And I think I’m about to start again.’

  ‘Oh, God, Liv. What’s going on?’

  ‘I don’t want to be late, Mum.’ Jasmine’s leaning out of the window. ‘I have to practise my recorder before music lesson.’

  ‘If you practised it in the evening like you’re supposed to,’ Leila calls back, ‘it wouldn’t always be such a rush.’

  ‘You should go, Leila,’ I say, smiling. ‘I’ll catch you at work.’ I kiss her cheek. ‘Set aside your whole lunch hour. It’s going to take a while.’

  I wave goodbye to them all – everyone waving back apart from Lauren who’s making a point of looking in the opposite direction – then I go inside to gather myself together for the day. Just as I’m locking the front door, the post arrives and I have a quick glance through it. The one that gets my attention is a thick, textured, vanilla-coloured envelope, made from the sort of paper that only lawyers can afford to use and when I open it, sure enough, it’s from my solicitor telling me that Phil’s solicitor has been in touch. A photocopy of the ‘request’ from Phil’s solicitor that we review child custody arrangements is also enclosed. There’s no obligation for me to do as much – it’s barely five months since we drew up the agreement – but in light of Phil’s marriage and his future wife’s commitment to ‘provide a nurturing environment for Lauren and Robert’, my cooperation would be appreciated. I stare at the letter for a few long seconds then put it into my doctor’s case and set off for work. I’ll call my solicitor after nine. It’s typical of Phil to neglect to warn me that a letter was on the way and I try not to let it unsettle me, but inevitably it does because I’m already perched on the curve of a towering set of worries and one more might just unbalance me completely.

  When I arrive at the surgery, I close my door behind me and check through my emails – good, normal, doctorly stuff for me to get my teeth into. It works for about ten minutes and then I start to worry about the promises I made yesterday – two conflicting promises: one to Kirsty and the other to O’Reilly. I promised Kirsty that I’d call her today and that we would discuss ways to help her put her mother’s death into pe
rspective. And I promised O’Reilly that I wouldn’t have anything else to do with Kirsty. I don’t want to let Kirsty down but, equally, I have to take O’Reilly’s advice. If only Phil and I weren’t at such loggerheads, I could ask him for help with Kirsty. Professionally, he is well respected, and I’m sure he’d be able to refer her to one of his colleagues.

  Thinking of Phil reminds me about the letter and I bring it out of my bag to reread it. It’s long-winded and jargon-heavy, but I use a neon highlighter to illuminate the sentences that concern me and then make the call to my solicitor. It takes a couple of minutes before I’m put through and when we start speaking, I’m mindful of an imaginary meter ticking away, like in a taxi, except this one goes up in tens of pounds, not tens of pence. ‘Would you mind just giving me the bottom line?’ I say, cutting through his legalese. ‘Sorry, but my surgery starts in a minute.’

  ‘Absolutely. Scots law is concerned with the child’s best interest. Unless there’s evidence that you’re no longer providing a stable environment for the children then the current agreement will stand. As Robbie is almost eighteen, this really only concerns Lauren.’ He gives me a couple more details and finishes with, ‘I’ll word a suitable reply to Phil’s solicitor and send you a copy in the post.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I put the phone down and it rings again immediately, a button flashing to tell me it’s reception.

  ‘Could you squeeze in an extra couple of patients, Liv? Leila’s not coming in this morning.’

  ‘How come? I saw her less than an hour ago. She was taking my kids to school.’

  ‘It’s only just happened. Her daughter fell over in the playground and has broken her arm. Leila won’t be in until later, if at all.’

  ‘Which daughter?’

  ‘Jasmine, I think. She’s the only one at primary school now, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she is.’ My heart sinks for Jasmine and Leila but mostly, I must admit, for myself and our missed lunch date. ‘Okay. No problem. Just give me ten minutes to organise myself.’

  I send a quick text to Leila, sending my love and sympathy, and she comes back almost immediately.

  I’m so sorry. Really wanted to catch up with you. Hopefully we won’t be waiting in a long queue. Hospitals L

  My morning passes in a rush – a conveyor belt of patients and their relatives, and I try to give each one the attention they deserve. It keeps me too busy to think about my own life, and when lunchtime comes and goes and Leila still isn’t back, I offer to take half of her home visits too. I collect the list from the receptionist and head off without even looking at the names. The first two are fairly straightforward and I read their notes in the car then go in for the visits. The third and final one is Audrey Williamson – Tess’s mother. According to her notes she called up this morning asking for an urgent visit from Dr Campbell. I call the surgery to ask the receptionist what the problem is and the receptionist tells me that Mrs Williamson refused to say, but insisted that it was very important she see a doctor today. ‘And in light of the fact that she has diabetes and isn’t long out of hospital,’ the receptionist tells me, ‘I didn’t feel it was my place to push too hard.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ I pull up outside their front door, wondering whether the police have spoken to Tess again yet, and wondering also what O’Reilly will think about me going into her house. But you’re going as a doctor, to see her mother, I remind myself. And Tess should really be at school.

  I ring the doorbell and Mrs Williamson answers. ‘Dr Somers!’ She tries to smile through her anxiety. ‘I wasn’t expecting you; I was expecting Dr Campbell.’

  ‘I know and I’m sorry about that. Unfortunately, Dr Campbell has had to take the day off and I’m covering her cases.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘If you’d prefer to only see Dr Campbell then I completely understand.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She opens the door wider. ‘In fact, I think it’s better that it’s you. Please come in.’ She hustles me through the front door and into the living room, where two ginger cats, sitting at either end of the windowsill, appraise me disdainfully then go back to licking their paws.

  ‘How are you keeping, Mrs Williamson?’

  ‘Not too bad, thank you.’ Her smile is easier now but nevertheless, she doesn’t look well. Her skin lacks lustre, her hair is chopped into an unflattering bob and she has a visible tremor in both her hands. ‘I worry far more about Tess than I do about myself.’

  ‘Is she back at school today?’

  ‘She’s upstairs. The police were here this morning and her father’s on business in Germany so I sat with her while they questioned her but . . .’ She stops and shakes her head, stares up at the ceiling and then back at me. ‘I know your family has been having some troubles, and somehow Tess has been brought to the police’s attention, but I really don’t think she has anything to do with it.’

  ‘I don’t think Tess is behind it either,’ I assure her. ‘But let’s talk about what’s troubling you.’

  ‘Tess. Tess is troubling me.’

  ‘But you asked for Dr Campbell to come out and see you, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but only because I didn’t want to say what the real problem was.’ She takes a step towards me. ‘Between you and me, Dr Somers, her dad will not be happy about this. You see, Tess is not like her two older sisters.’ She waves towards the wall, where two girls wearing graduation robes smile into the room. ‘I know we have high standards in our family and have always expected a lot of the girls, but Tess doesn’t have their drive or their confidence. This is another week when I haven’t been able to get her to go to school. And now all this trouble with Kirsty Stewart.’ Her voice cracks. ‘Frankly, it’s difficult to remember I’m a Christian when I think about that girl. She’s a nasty piece of work. She’s bullied Tess since day one, and have the school listened? No. Because she’s a wonderful actress and she’ll no doubt go on to great things and the fact that she’s an impossible bully and a downright bitch will all be forgotten.’ Her cheeks flush. ‘Pardon my language but you can’t believe what . . .’ She shakes her head. ‘I’m at my wits’ end.’

  ‘I can see that,’ I say, unsure as to how Kirsty can still be causing Tess such serious problems when she no longer goes to Sanderson. ‘Now, why don’t we try to plan a way forward?’

  ‘George, my husband, says we shouldn’t give in to bullying and I agree with him. But you have to understand that we’re a conventional family and choosing Sanderson Academy for Tess was not a decision we took lightly. Wherever Tess goes, she struggles to fit in, and we thought this school would help but . . . well.’ She purses her lips. ‘Tess has a lot of growing up to do.’

  ‘Why don’t we wait for Dr Campbell to come back tomorrow? I know that Tess usually sees her.’

  ‘But Tess saw you last time, didn’t she?’

  ‘She did but . . .’ This is difficult. ‘To be frank, Mrs Williamson, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes and bearing in mind the fact that Tess—’

  ‘What’s going on?’ We both turn and see Tess standing at the entrance to the living room, her mouth hanging open in surprise. She is still in her pyjamas and is wearing thick socks and a long cardigan. Her shoulders are slumped and greasy hair hangs down over her face.

  ‘Hello, Tess,’ I say. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Fine.’ She sits down on the couch, holding herself towards the edge.

  ‘I’ll just make us a cup of tea while you two chat,’ Mrs Williamson says, running off to the kitchen. ‘I bought some homemade shortbread at St Bede’s coffee morning.’

  ‘Thank you but I’m not able to stay for tea,’ I shout out, hoping to make a speedy exit. Much as I believe Tess to be Kirsty’s victim, I’m not inclined to get involved. The waters are muddy enough as it is. ‘I need to get back to the surgery.’

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ Tess says, grabbing my arm. ‘I don’t want to do what Kirsty says.’ She shudders and uses her other hand to pull her cardigan in a
round herself. ‘She forces me to go along with her.’

  ‘Tess.’ I try to move past her but she’s holding on tight and, to make matters worse, one of the ginger cats has jumped off the windowsill and is wrapping itself around my legs. ‘Have you told the police the truth about your involvement with Kirsty?’

  ‘Yes.’ Although she goes to a school for the performing arts she is patently lying, the wash of uncertainty that passes across her face a dead giveaway.

  ‘Look, Tess, I don’t blame you for any of this,’ I say, detaching her fingers from my sleeve. ‘I know Kirsty is bullying you, but in order for you to break free of her, you need to be honest with the police. And as she doesn’t go to school with you any more, I can’t imagine it will be that difficult.’

  Her eyes are downcast. ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘What do I not understand?’

  ‘You didn’t tell my mum I was on the pill, did you?’ she says, raising her eyes just enough to see into mine.

  ‘Of course not. That information is confidential.’

  ‘My parents are really strict.’

  ‘They don’t know you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘They don’t know anything about me.’ She blushes. ‘If they did they’d go mad. They’d throw me out.’

  ‘Well . . . it’s difficult being sixteen. Parents don’t always see us the way we see ourselves. But you’re of an age where your sex life is your business, and if you want to talk to me about it then you should make an appointment and come to the surgery.’

  More downcast eyes, and I’m beginning to wonder whether she has a genuine reason to be afraid of her parents. It’s a sad fact that child abuse is always a consideration when a young person is unhappy and unable to express the exact reason why. ‘You know, we have a counsellor attached to the practice who could help you with any worries you might have. Worries to do with your parents or your boyfriend—’