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CHAPTER 22
CONNIE
It’s approaching 3.45 a.m. and I’m wide awake again. After much tossing and turning, I must have finally drifted off in the early hours, only to wake myself up mid-dream. It was another one about Paul.
Tonight, he was walking across the fields behind her house, his arm entwined around ‘Gwenny’. Only she didn’t look as she does now, but back to how she was in the old photographs she’s shown me – perfectly primped, stylish and eye-catching. He turned his head to wink at me and I began shouting ‘Mum! Mum!’ as if to warn her she was making a terrible mistake. But then she started dancing, twirling around in circles, holding the hem of her skirt up to her knees and laughing so joyously in a way I’d never heard her laugh before. I called her name again but she was too caught in the moment to hear me. But when I tried to chase after them, I couldn’t move at all. My body was paralysed. Other nights I’ve dreamed Paul has her locked in the back of his van. She’s banging on the rear window with her fists and begging me to free her. The closer I get, the more sunken her eyes and cheeks become and Iknow that I must reach her before she withers away into dust before my eyes. But as soon as I’m within touching distance of the vehicle, Paul speeds away. It doesn’t take Sigmund Freud to interpret what any of this means.
I prop myself up in bed and sip from the glass of last night’s wine. It’s too late to take a full sleeping tablet, so I break off and swallow only a quarter. And as I wait for it to work its magic, I fixate on Paul again. I’ve never felt more hatred and more disgust towards anyone in my life than I do towards him. And believe me, I’ve met some bastards in my time. The worst part of the lies he’s been spreading about me throughout the village is that I can’t call him out on them or go on the attack, because he’ll find a way to use it against me and cut me off from her completely. I’m sure that’s part of his long-term strategy anyway. But I don’t want to give him an excuse to make it happen sooner rather than later. Especially with me going away soon.
I’ve put off packing my suitcase, but my leaving date is fast approaching so I’ll need to make a start. It’s come at the worst possible time, and if there was any way to get out of it, I would. My only hope is that the neighbours who have turned against me will at least keep an eye on her until I return. Even Walter, the one person I thought would be on my side, seems wary of me. Our conversations are briefer, and when I bring up Paul’s name, he changes the subject.
Another result of Paul’s lies is that my money is tighter than ever. Two of my regular dog walks have cancelled with no explanation, along with half of my ironing clients. Mary and her tittle-tattle are to blame for this, I’m sure. I’m still appalled by how fast she sided with Paul. Why do some women always take the word of a man over another woman? When the truth comes out – and I hope to God it will soon – I want to see that old cow on her knees and begging for my forgiveness.
I yawn so widely my jawbone clicks. The tablet is finally kicking in and it’s not long before I nod off. But my second round of sleep doesn’t last for long as a persistent banging rouses me. It’s only when I hear shouting that I realise someone’s at the front door. I slip on my dressing gown and walk cautiously towards it, being careful to leave the chain on when I answer. To my surprise, it’s Mary. She appears flustered. I unhook the chain and open the door wide.
‘It’s your mum,’ she pants. ‘There’s an ambulance at the house.’
‘What? Why?’
‘I don’t know, but you’d better hurry.’
I don’t bother to change out of my nightclothes. Instead, I slip on a pair of trainers lying on the doormat and run. A first responder’s yellow and green vehicle is parked by the verge and an ambulance is behind it. The lights are on inside her house and I hurry up the path and in through the open door. I hear Mary following me and turn to glare at her before I slam it shut in her face.
‘Mum?’ I shout as I enter the hall and spot a kitchen full of people. She is sitting on a chair and a rush of relief spreads through me. She’s alive. She is wearing the pale yellow nightie I bought her from M&S for Christmas, but only one slipper.
I last saw her this afternoon and she seemed perfectly alright, alert and chatty. But this version of her is completely different. Her stare is manic. At first I struggle to understand what she’s saying until I realise she is hurling abuse at four paramedics. I’ve never heard her swear like this before, even when she loses her temper with me.
‘Mum, what’s going on?’ I ask just as she changes tack and begins spewing racist bile at the only person of colour in the room, a mixed-heritage paramedic. I’m about to apologise and explain she doesn’t normally behave like this when he raises his hand as if to say it doesn’t matter, he knows she’s not in her right mind. I’m still embarrassed for her though.
Paul stands the furthest away, his shoulders resting casually against the fridge door as if this is all perfectly normal. ‘What have you done to her?’ I snap.
‘And who are you?’ asks a paramedic.
‘A family friend,’ Paul says before I can respond.
‘I’m her daughter,’ I say, then wheel back on Paul. ‘You are nobody. Get out of her house.’
The paramedic ignores whatever is going on between Paul and me. ‘Your mum appears to be having a psychotic episode,’ he informs me. ‘Once we’ve calmed her down, it might be wise to take her to hospital for a full assessment.’
For the first time, I notice the scratch marks on Paul’s forearms and what I think is a bite mark on his hand. He knows I’ve spotted them. ‘They say you only hurt the ones you love,’ he says. ‘Anyway, she doesn’t need the hospital. I can look after her here.’
‘With the best will in the world, I’m not sure you can,’ the paramedic replies. ‘She needs a thorough examination and tests.’
‘It’s happened before and it passes. If you take her into hospital, it’ll only stress her out more—’
‘I’ve never seen her like this,’ I interrupt.
‘You’re not around much these days.’
‘Because you don’t let me see her!’
‘And how long did previous episodes last?’ the paramedic continues.
‘Not long,’ Paul replies vaguely. ‘Usually twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. But this one’s been going on for a few hours now.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ I ask.
‘There was no need to get anyone else involved.’
