by Phil Earle
It was all I needed to know for sure.
I’d done it again. Just as I had with Mum.
Leaving me no option but to give in.
To the arms that were holding me and the darkness that offered some blessed relief.
Chapter 16
First, there was just light.
A sharp pinprick, burning through my eyelids.
Then nothing.
Next there were voices. Some I didn’t recognize, others, like Donna’s, that made me panic before they slipped away again.
Then there were people shuffling around me, gripping my wrists, writing on clipboards, stroking my head.
How long this went on for I had no idea. All I knew was that the noises and visions came and went as I drifted in and out. Whether they were real or part of my blissful sleep, I couldn’t begin to know.
It wasn’t until I woke to find Mr Hobson sat in the chair by my bed that I knew the dreaming was over.
I screamed, my voice rippling the curtains that stood sentry around my bed. I pulled my hands up to my eyes, rolling away from him.
He was on his feet instantly, shushing me urgently, before giving up and hammering on a red button by my bed.
After that there was a flurry of bodies, a glint of a needle, a struggle and a puncture before I slipped away inside myself again, happy at being rescued from him.
When it was time to open my eyes again, I did it slowly, fearful of his presence in the chair.
But it was empty and the room dark.
What became evident very quickly, however, was where I was.
Hospital.
The smell was unmistakable: a cloying antiseptic that seemed anything but clean.
It smelt of death.
My mind whirred.
Death meant Mum, which meant guilt, and secrets, which led to panic attacks.
Attacks led to scissors and more guilt. Which meant lying and further secrets.
And secrets? Well, I’d hoarded them for too long, and they merely led to death.
Dad’s death.
The crash. The smoke. And the knowledge that I’d done it again.
The scream escaped without me realizing. Forced its way down the halls and roused a sleepy, irritable nurse.
‘What sort of noise is that?’ She grimaced, checking a drip that was invading my right wrist. ‘Are you wanting to wake the entire ward?’
She talked to me like we knew each other, like it wasn’t the first time I’d disrupted whatever it was she’d been up to.
I stared at her, daring to ask the question I already knew the answer to: where was my dad? But all that came out was a noise I didn’t know I was capable of.
She warned me. Warned me what would happen if I kept making such a din.
But that was all I wanted to hear. As long as I knew the needle was on the way, then I was happy. It was all I needed to stop remembering what I’d done.
And if I had the needle often enough and quick enough, then maybe, eventually, hopefully, I wouldn’t bother waking up.
Chapter 17
There were no tears when they finally admitted what I already knew about Dad. Maybe the contents of the needle had hardened me, but I looked the nurse full on as she told me. These were words I had to hear, and I breathed them in, along with the guilt that came with them.
It had taken them a few days to calm me down after I first woke up. At least that’s what they told me. Time had ceased to matter. Whether I slept or woke, in daylight or in darkness, I was trapped in the same nightmare of my own making.
They tried to pity me, soothe me, stroke my hair and pat my hand, but I wouldn’t let them near me. It was just too risky.
I wouldn’t even let them tend to my arm, still weeping and throbbing because of what I’d done.
‘I’ll have to get the doctor,’ one of them eventually told me, ‘and he won’t be as patient as me, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’
The doctor left empty-handed as well, ears ringing at my protests.
They seemed to tire after that, leaving me to slip in and out of fitful sleep, returning only to collect untouched dinner trays, eyebrows raised as I fixed them with a terrified feral gaze.
Eventually, though, two women returned, one a doctor and the other a pen-pusher of some kind.
‘I’m Evelyn,’ the non-doctor said, smiling briskly. I noted her good sense in not trying to shake my hand or touch me in any way. ‘Do you have a middle name, Daisy?’
I was confused by the simplicity of the question and what bearing it could possibly have. Unless she was a copper and was ready to arrest me.
I said nothing, gave nothing away.
She seemed comfortable with the silence, opening a folder in her lap, her pen scratching angrily on a page of densely typed paper.
‘So, as I say, my name’s Evelyn and I’m a social worker. Your social worker from this point on.’
For some reason I wanted to laugh. Social workers were for kids who got clobbered by their dads, not ones who killed them. I considered telling her this myself, but the white-coated woman didn’t give me the chance.
‘And I’m Alice.’ There was a touch of irritation in her voice and instantly I worried what I’d done to upset her. ‘I’m the psychiatrist on the ward. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to come and see you properly until now.’
I tried to weigh up what I was dealing with: a shrink and a do-gooder, both of them capable of giving me exactly what I deserved, both of them with the power to lock me up in some way for what I’d done.
Evelyn spoke first. ‘Daisy, we need to try and work out the next move for you. After you’re discharged from here. We need to know if you have relatives that we might be able to contact, anyone who might be able to act as your guardian.’
I pulled my legs up to my chest, feeling my cuts groan as I wrapped my arms around my knees. Even if there was someone, there was no way I was telling her. No way I was going to sign someone else up for the same fate as Mum and Dad.
‘I understand this must be very difficult for you, my love –’ I winced at Evelyn’s term of affection (she spoke without a trace of emotion anywhere in her voice) – ‘but at times like this, it’s important to have family around you. And the quicker we can identify someone, the sooner we can move on.’
I didn’t need to think about it. There was no one. Both Mum and Dad had been only children. Dad did inherit a step-brother after his father remarried, but there was a big age gap between them and they’d never been close. I’d only met him once, at Grandpa’s funeral, and even then he’d not said a word to me. Dad reckoned he’d only pitched up in case there was something in it for him, and when there wasn’t, we didn’t hear from him again.
I saw the two women eyeing me as I sat silently. The social worker was getting angsty, her foot tapping out an urgent Morse code message on the polished floor.
It was obvious she didn’t want to be here, that she wanted to tick her boxes and move on as smartly as she could, and I knew that my reluctance to answer was already starting to get on her wick.
The doctor obviously saw it too, as she took up the attack, her body language everything that Evelyn’s wasn’t.
‘How are you coping with the anxiety you’ve been suffering, Daisy?’ she asked, her voice completely calm.
I raised my eyebrows, wondering how she knew.
‘The nurses have been very worried about you. About your levels of distress and inability to eat or drink. That’s why you’ve been given a drip – is it bothering you?’
I shook my head.
‘They’re also concerned about your arm: that you haven’t allowed them to change the dressing. When you were admitted there was a level of infection from where you cut yourself and if we don’t keep on top of it your temperature will rise again.’
I shuffled on the bed, thinking of a way to hide my arm as well as t
he drip, realizing quickly as I squirmed that I felt more vulnerable than ever.
‘Do you want to tell us how long you’ve been self-harming, Daisy?’
This was Evelyn again, her tone flat-lining as she failed to even look up from her paper. I wondered if she was putting a shopping list together as she spoke, as it seemed to be annoying Alice as well.
‘Let’s not worry about that for now. What’s important is that we make you comfortable, and that a nurse gets that arm clean.’ She ushered Evelyn to the back of the room, a gesture that revealed the pair’s dislike for each other as plain as day.
What followed was an awkward dance, as a nurse tried to get close enough to clean me. At first I flatly refused to let her touch and, had it not been for Alice and her endless patient smile, the nurse would soon have been picking the instruments out of her forehead rather than using them to clean me up.
In the end we reached a compromise of me dressing my own arm, as they watched and prompted.
They prodded in other ways instead, nagging questions about how long this had been going on, what had happened for me to be so unhappy. I zoned them out, looking at the lines and gouges, remembering the panic associated with them, ashamed to realize that I deserved each and every one of them.
By the time I’d cleaned half of them, the three adults realized that they weren’t going to get anything out of me today, and that was enough for Evelyn to make her excuses and leave.
‘I’ll be back in tomorrow, Daisy, once I’ve done some more research. I’m sure you must have some family you’re not telling us about.’ She forced a smile on to her face, cheeks groaning with the force of the effort.
The nurse didn’t last much longer either. Content that I was germ-free, and after checking that every sharp implement she’d arrived with was back on her tray, she shuffled into the hall.
Which just left Alice, and although she was happy to sit in my silence, it was obvious she wanted information. And she wasn’t going to get it. No matter the size of her death wish.
Instead, she told me the way things were.
‘Daisy, you’ve been here for six days now, and aside from the infection in your arm, there’s nothing physically wrong with you.’
I picked at the skin on the side of my thumb, my heart-rate picking up as I waited for the ‘but’.
I didn’t have to wait to hear it.
‘Emotionally, though … well, that’s a different matter. You’ve barely said two words to any of the staff here. The most we’ve got out of you was when your temperature was raging and you were delirious.’
‘What did I say?’ I didn’t look at her as I asked the question.
‘Daisy, it was so nonsensical it barely needs repeating. But it was enough, coupled with your self-harming and inability to connect with anyone, to know that we are going to have to make plans for you.’
I felt my insides splinter as the prospect of another night under strip lighting stretched out before me. ‘I want to go home,’ I moaned. ‘Just let me go home.’
‘To whom?’ she asked. ‘If you have any family, any friends we can contact, then for goodness’ sake tell us about them. This is no place for you. No place at all.’
She paused before she went on, seeming to weigh up what she was about to say.
‘And that’s why you need to talk to us. Because if you don’t, then the places you could end up in … Well, they make this ward look like the Hilton.’
She smiled sadly before pushing herself upright.
‘Think about what I’ve said, won’t you? Please?’
But I wasn’t in the right place to listen. She was wrong, I thought. There could be nowhere worse in the world than here and now.
I was wrong.
On both scores.
Chapter 18
Dad wasn’t coming back.
I’d replayed our final conversation over and over in my head, looping it around in the hope of finding a different ending, but it always played out the same. Dad was still angry, I was still scared and ultimately he was still dead. I tried to dream up alternatives, like deleted scenes on a DVD, but there was nothing, just the glaring empty truth that he’d gone.
Some of the time, the fear kept its distance, gnawing at my skin without getting into my veins, but there were times, mostly in the middle of the night, when sleep refused to come and rescue me, that it broke through the surface and pulsed through me, controlling my every thought and movement.
I pulled my room apart the first time it happened, desperate for a sharp edge to fight the panic with. But there was nothing. Cups were plastic, mirrors bolted to the wall and the nurses too careful to leave any weapon lying around.
Pacing the floor, I nipped and scratched at the skin on my arm and, when that failed, I worked at the scabs hidden beneath my dressing, tears of relief and embarrassment mixing as my heartbeat finally subsided.
I got a huge lecture off the nurse the next day, probably because she had allowed it to happen on her shift, and I swear when she wrapped the last of the bandages on to my arm (she’d flat refused to let me do it), she applied about ten times more tape than she had the night before. I remember the disappointment as she brought out the tape. I’d been hoping for a safety pin that I could’ve hidden away.
The nurses were tiring of me – I could see that and couldn’t blame them. There were people on the ward who were properly ill and needed their time. But instead they spent their hours slowly mummifying me.
I’d slept a little that morning, having been given some pills that they claimed would take the edge off the anxiety, and while they made me sleep, they didn’t help me wake up. Rousing myself was difficult – my eyelids were leaden and mind fuggy.
I’d been dreaming about Dad. We were sitting together watching a film, and he was comforting me, stroking my hand gently, telling me everything was going to be all right.
It was perfect, so perfect that I forced my eyes open, desperate to see him clearly, to tell him how happy I was that he was back.
I couldn’t see him properly at first, but he was definitely there beside my bed, his hand still gripping mine, stroking the back of it. I smiled for the first time in days, asking him to pass me the water on my table.
It tasted stale, like it hadn’t been touched in days, and the metallic taste woke me properly, throwing Dad into focus.
And it wasn’t him, no matter how hard I squinted.
Instead, there was Mr Hobson, face unshaven and clothes crumpled. It looked like he hadn’t changed them in days.
Wrenching my hand from his, I pushed myself to the far side of the bed. I wanted to rub my eyes until he disappeared, but knew it would do no good. He was on his feet, shuffling around the bed, finger to his mouth, hushing me urgently.
Strange. I hadn’t even realized I’d been making a noise.
‘Oh my God, Daisy,’ he whispered, the rims of his eyes a crimson red. ‘I’m so sorry.’
I screamed again, hearing it clearly this time, feeling my eardrums burn at the volume.
It wasn’t loud enough to make him run.
‘I’ve not slept since I heard the news.’ His appearance certainly backed that up. ‘I wanted to come the second I heard, but the Head told everyone you weren’t up to visitors.’ He risked a tiny step towards me. I pushed my back further against the wall. ‘But I had to keep coming to see you. Check you were OK.’
‘What are you doing here?’ My voice was shaky, like it belonged to an old woman. ‘What do you want?’
‘I don’t want anything. I promise. I just had to see you, tell you that I’m sorry.’
‘Well, you’ve said it now, so go. I can’t do this. I can’t talk to you again.’
He stayed where he was. The only movement towards the door was with his eyes, as he checked we were alone.
‘Look, I promise I won’t come again. I won’t. I just needed to see you, needed to know
that you weren’t going to tell anyone about this, about us. What happened by the river.’
I crumbled at this point. He wasn’t sorry, wasn’t grieving for me or remorseful at what had happened. He just wanted to cover his back now he didn’t have Dad to bribe me with.
The anger grew in me and I shook my head from side to side, trying to ease the pressure.
‘Get out,’ I mouthed, quietly at first. He took a step closer, straining to hear me, so I increased the volume, startling him, forcing him to shush me again, his arms outstretched and desperate.
‘Please, Daisy,’ he begged, and I saw tears starting to escape down his face. ‘Please, I didn’t mean for it to happen.’
But it was too much. I couldn’t handle his feelings as well as my own and, as my shouting increased, I lashed out, arms bouncing off his shoulders as I tried to knock him clean out of the room.
Nurses streamed in to find me attacking him, raining blows on to his face and neck, whatever I could get to. They dived between us, ripping my hands away from him, restraining me against the headboard.
I didn’t hear them telling me to calm down, because the blood pumping in my ears was deafening. All I could see was Mr Hobson transformed into the victim, as the nurses fussed around, worrying about the wounds on his face.
I struggled against them, trying to tell them that it was his fault, that he’d driven me to it. That he was the reason why Dad was dead, that he made me kill him, but they didn’t listen. They hammered on the red button beside my bed and hung on until reinforcements arrived.
I was so angry, so off the scale, that I thought there wouldn’t be enough syringes in the world to calm me down. But I was wrong, for as the plunger fell and the liquid crept up my arm, the world went into slow motion and I watched, powerless, as they led Hobson away. Then the lights faded to black.
Chapter 19
Everything moved quicker after Hobson’s visit, especially the nurses. Having seen me in action they didn’t want to spend much time in my presence. They were more used to ingrowing toenails and ruptured appendixes, and without an injection of danger money obviously thought it best to leave me alone. I tried not to let it bother me.
