Before I Let You In (19 page)

‘Yes?’

‘She let slip the name of the guy she’s seeing. I don’t think she even realised she’d said anything and she denied it straight away but I know I heard it.’

‘But you’re not allowed to tell me. Patient confidentiality and all that, yes?’

‘Well she didn’t say his last name, so I don’t see how you could identify him.’

‘Then what’s the newsflash? There must be something in this or we wouldn’t be discussing it instead of …’ He gave her the look, and she knew exactly what he’d rather be doing.

‘No, you’re right.’ She snuggled in closer to him and he ran a warm hand over her hip. ‘It’s just a bit weird, because his name is Adam.’

‘And that’s weird because …? Wait, let me guess,
Cosmo
voted men with the name Adam least likely to have affairs with mentally challenged young women?’

‘Stop being an arse. I just thought it was strange because, y’know, Eleanor’s Adam?’

Michael grinned, and she knew that he wasn’t about to agree that Jessica must be sleeping with her best friend’s husband based on his name.

‘Well you do know that Adam is one of the least common names in the UK, don’t you? For example, when I was growing up there were only three Adams in my whole year group, only about eight or nine in the entire school. With odds like that, I can understand your suspicion.’

Karen was sure she was supposed to feel silly at his acute observational humour, but all she felt was annoyed.
Tell him the rest
… ‘His wife has just had a baby. Eleanor has just had a baby.’

‘In that case I really don’t know what to say.’ Michael tried to keep his face straight, but she knew he wasn’t being serious. ‘Because I feel like I just used up all my good sarcasm on the name thing.’

She wanted to tell him about seeing the two of them together, but Eleanor hadn’t believed her and she couldn’t be bothered to try and convince Michael as well. He clearly couldn’t care less about her concerns over Jessica Hamilton. She knew unequivocally what she’d seen and what was going on, but it didn’t seem that anyone else was going to take her word for it.

‘Oh piss off.’ She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her in to his chest.

‘Hey, don’t be like that. You’re not going to huff off over some patient. I’ve told you before, you need to let go once you leave the office. That place will be the death of you.’

‘Okay, you’re right.’ She knew she sounded sulky. She felt sulky.

‘Come on, don’t be grumpy.’ Michael lifted his feet up on to the sofa and pulled her in close to him. Clean, socked feet, she thought, grimly picturing Jessica Hamilton’s dirty pumps. She leaned back and let herself relax into the solid warmth of his chest. ‘She just sounds like a woman scorned to me.’

‘Scorned?’ She lifted her head and turned to look at him. ‘Why would you say that? Like a loser in some kind of battle?’

He gave her a look that told her she was putting words in his mouth and about to start an argument with herself over them.

‘I shouldn’t be talking about her anyway, I’ve already said more than I usually would. This one freaked me a little, I suppose.’

‘Well you shouldn’t let it. She’ll use you as her sounding board for a few more weeks and move on. You can’t let it leave the room with you.’

He was right. She’d had plenty of other patients who had issues far greater than Jessica Hamilton’s, and she’d never let them bother her before. The rule of the practice was that they did not get involved personally. If they started to feel like they couldn’t maintain a professional distance, then they brought it up at the weekly meeting and someone else took the case, or counselled them through it. It might sound weird, psychiatrists getting counselling, but in their field everyone had regular sessions to ensure their minds were fit for purpose. But this just didn’t feel like something she could bring up with the other partners. She imagined they would feel as Michael did: that this woman was no different from any other patient – less threatening to her mental well-being in fact – and she should be able to handle her. They might even suspect she had another reason for being so uncomfortable with the way the sessions were going, a deeper meaning behind her misgivings. They were professionals, after all.

There was perhaps one person she could talk to – Robert. She had to speak to someone; if they even suspected someone might come to harm from one of their patients, it was professional suicide to stay silent. Plus there were her notes. Notes she couldn’t amend after the fact; all their documents marked the time and date of any amendments, in the interest of full disclosure should any …
problems
arise.

She didn’t know why she didn’t tell Michael about how she really felt – as though Jessica knew her. Like it was personal between them. Maybe she was still denying the possibility; maybe saying it out loud would mean she had to act on it

‘You’re right,’ she murmured, not wanting to continue the conversation any more. ‘I should make dinner.’

41

Eleanor

The screaming hadn’t let up all morning. Every time Eleanor had put Noah down for even a second, he’d turned into a wailing siren, desperate to alert the authorities to his abandonment. Toby hadn’t helped; he’d eaten so slowly she was certain his cereal bowl was getting fuller every time she checked, and it was 7.45 and neither child was dressed.

The problem was that she just didn’t feel as though she could concentrate on anything. The wheels in her head were turning in slow motion, the hamster on strike. It was almost as though her brain had been scooped out and someone had filled her whole head with bubble wrap. Every now and then she would just find herself unmoving, staring straight ahead with no clue what she was trying to achieve.

She should have prepared everything last night, she knew that. She’d promised herself that when Noah came along she would prep the school runs the night before, be organised. That was almost laughable now. Despite his promise to work less Adam was still out nearly every night, and by the time both boys were settled, all she wanted to do was fall into a Xanax-induced sleep. Thank God for her magic pills.

She’d put Noah into his bouncer to try to figure out which day it was and what Toby needed to take with him, the things she’d have to get done while she was out of the house, Toby’s birthday presents to buy and party invites to write, but the baby just wouldn’t stop screaming. Toby had the TV turned up loud to try and hear his programmes over the din, and the drums pounding a rhythm in her head hadn’t let up since she’d woken at six.

‘Mum …’ Toby started. Fearing that she might just sit down on the floor and start screaming herself, Eleanor held up a quivering hand.

‘Just a sec, Tobes, Mum’s popping to the loo.’ She disappeared through the door and took the stairs two at a time – the fastest she’d been able to move all morning. Closing the bathroom door behind her, she sank down against the wood, Noah’s wailing still audible from downstairs but at least at a tolerable volume.

Pulling out the bottle of pills that had been rattling invitingly from her dressing-gown pocket all morning, she palmed two and pushed them into her mouth greedily, swallowing them without any water. She leaned her head back against the door and closed her eyes.

Okay, come on
, she told herself silently,
it’s just a school run. Noah doesn’t even need to be dressed; just shove his coat on and he’s ready to go. As long as Toby has his lunch money and last night’s homework in his bag, he’ll be fine. Does he need his PE kit? What day is PE? Send it with him anyway, better to be safe …

She willed herself to stand up, but her legs were so heavy and it was so comfy there on the floor, so much quieter than downstairs. If only she could stay there, even for five minutes …

The banging on the door was urgent, followed by cries of ‘Mum! Mum! Mum!’ so loud that Eleanor’s eyes flew open. Had she fallen asleep? How long had she been sitting there? Not more than a few moments, surely, yet Noah’s cries sounded more anguished and Toby’s voice was desperate. She pushed herself to her feet, firecrackers going off inside her head, and threw open the bathroom door.

‘Noah’s fallen out of his bouncer!’ Toby shouted, and ran down the stairs before she could respond.

It was pure panic that moved her legs to follow her son. She was on autopilot – get to Noah and she could deal with what had just happened later.

As she flew into the living room, Noah’s cries turned to hysterics. He was lying on the wooden floor, face down, unable to push himself up, legs flailing wildly. She dashed to his side, scooped him up and pressed him tightly to her chest, terrified to look at the damage he’d done.

‘What happened?’ She turned to Toby, desperate to have someone to blame other than the real person responsible – herself. The stricken look on Toby’s face halted her in her tracks.

‘He just fell,’ Toby said. ‘He wasn’t strapped in. You were ages.’

‘I wasn’t age—’ Eleanor glanced at the clock: 8.13. She’d been in the bathroom nearly half an hour. ‘Oh Jesus. Come on, Tobes, get your uniform on. Don’t look like that. Your brother’s fine and you’re going to be late for school.’

She prised a calming Noah from her chest and checked his head for bruising. An angry red mark that would surely produce a lump the size of a tennis ball was forming, but his eyes were alert and he was no longer crying. She’d just have to keep an eye on him for the rest of the day.

How had she allowed this to happen? Holding back tears for the sake of Toby – who to his credit had gone upstairs to dress without another word – she smiled at Noah and jiggled him around a little on her hip to calm him down. Now she just needed to calm herself down. Her heart was pounding so hard she was surprised it hadn’t come through her pyjamas, and she was shaking uncontrollably.

How she managed to get dressed and both of the children in the car she didn’t know, but she didn’t feel in any fit state to drive anywhere. Should she call Adam? Karen? Bea? Both women would be on their way to work now, and her mum couldn’t drive. Calling Adam would mean admitting to the Xanax, admitting that their children had been in the care of a zombie for days.

‘Mum, are you okay? We’re going to be late.’

Eleanor slid down the window and let the cool air hit her in the face. There was a refreshing autumn bite to the morning that made her feel more awake, more alive. She turned on the motor and put the car in gear. She was fine, she could do this – she’d driven the route a thousand times before.

‘No problem, dude, we’re on our way.’ She pulled away from the kerb, paying extra attention to the road, muttering instructions to herself to compensate for the fuzzy emptiness where her brain should be.

42

Bea

On her birthday last year, Eleanor had sent Bea a card that had a black and white picture of two women talking. ‘There’s this new machine at the gym,’ one was whispering. ‘It does everything. KitKats, Mars bars …’

That was pretty much how Bea felt about the gym. The vending machine was the only machine she had a meaningful relationship with, and yet still she was there, night after night, her mother’s words shoving her forward more effectively than any hand would.

‘Us Barker women have to watch what we eat, or we have to exercise, and I haven’t seen you do either lately. Unless you want to end up with thighs like Auntie Gemma, you need to stop these takeaways and junk food.’

But that hadn’t really been an option, given that Bea was the type of person to eat a Mars bar on the treadmill, so she’d upped her workouts to four times a week and had been pleased to notice a difference. Now she had less time to eat.

‘That’s just Mum’s way.’ Fran laughed when Bea told her what their mother had said. ‘You’re lucky you’re the baby. If I’d told her to bugger off like you did, I’d have been up shit creek and she’d be chasing me with the paddle.’

Bea grinned at the thought of her mum chasing her thirty-nine-year-old sister around the garden with a paddle. Fran was right, though: the house rules had relaxed somewhat by the time Bea had come along, or maybe it was that her mum had just been too busy to notice how many of them she was breaking. The disparity in their upbringing had been part of what had stopped them becoming close until they were old enough not to care any more. Bea had always felt that her mum showed more interest in Fran than in her, and Fran had complained tirelessly that her little sister was the golden child who could do no wrong. Nowadays, though, sibling rivalry had given way to the kind of friendship you only got from sharing bath times and meals every day for the first ten years of your life.

‘You know damn well Mum loves you more.’ Bea continued the age-old joke they’d both become accustomed to. ‘Otherwise why would I have been named after Nanny Beatrice when you get to be named after Nanny Frances? I could have totally rocked a Frankie. The cool name was wasted on you.’

‘Well if you’ve finished sweating, I was thinking maybe I could pop over. Rich and Lewis are at football, Maisy is at a friend’s and I don’t have anything better to do.’

‘Gee, thanks, Fran, how can I resist an offer like that?’

Talking to Fran these days was easy. Sometimes easier than talking to her friends. Bea wasn’t sure if it was her or them, but sometimes it just felt as though they were finally outgrowing each other. When she was with Fran, she didn’t feel like some kind of failure because she wasn’t settled down with 2.4 children and an amazing job. Fran was older and the fact that she’d had kids before her baby sister was to be expected – plus her children were little shits and made Bea glad to be a lonely old spinster. Bea loved her friends like sisters, but whenever she saw them, she was just reminded of her fledgling career and total lack of serious relationship. So many times she’d thought about telling Fran about what had happened to her all those years ago, and yet she still couldn’t bring herself to say the words – to relive it all again, or worse, to find she was wrong about her sister and see the judgement in her eyes.