Accidents Happen (4 page)

Kate threw her head back, trying not to sound irritated. ‘Yes, but it’s not just that. It’s not just the burglary. You asked for an example. I was just giving you one. No one else in my street has been burgled this year. Out of fifty houses. Just me. Twice.’ She frowned as Sylvia’s face remained impassive. ‘Oh. I don’t know how to explain it . . . OK. You know how most people will never be in a train crash, but a tiny number will be in two? Well, I’m always the person who’s in two train crashes.’

Sylvia nodded. ‘OK. Could you give me another example?’

Kate sighed. This was harder than she’d imagined.

‘OK. Well. Five years ago my h—’

She stopped. The tears were welling again. Threatening to betray her. To expose soft wounds beneath toughened bones.

She tried again but the word remained stuck in her mouth. Sylvia waited.

‘I find it difficult to say the word.’

‘Take your time.’

She swallowed hard and forced the syllables forwards. ‘My
hus
-band.’ The word came out strangled and sore.

‘Your husband?’

Kate stared.

Of course, Sylvia didn’t know.

For a second, the word ‘husband’ sounded real in this woman’s mouth. As if it applied to now. As if it were still precious and present. It was such a shock that Kate forgot about fighting the tears. One burst free and ran down her cheek.

‘Please.’ Sylvia leaned forwards, offering tissues.

‘Oh,’ Kate groaned involuntarily, taking one. She sniffed and wiped her cheek. ‘No. My husband . . . was killed.’

The flash of violence, silver and sharp. She automatically touched her stomach.

‘Oh, Kate. How terrible for you. I’m so sorry,’ Sylvia said. Kate held up one hand and took a breath so deep to control herself that she felt her lungs would burst.

‘And my parents.’

It was no good. When the breath returned back out of her lips, it had transformed into a sob. It forced its way out of her chest and burst noisily into the room.

She sat back in the chair, horrified.

‘Sorry,’ she gasped, trying to force it back.

‘Kate, it’s fine to cry.’

Kate shook her head vigorously. She tried to form the words ‘It’s not’ with her lips, but the motion threatened to allow the tears to escape properly. She shut her eyes and fought hard, focusing on the torrent that she knew was trying to force through the tunnels of her interior, weakening the walls that kept her upright and functioning on the worst days, before knocking them down with an effortless wave, to send her wearily, exhausted, to another lost day under the covers in bed.

No.

Angrily, Kate sniffed even harder.

She
did not cry any more
.

She
would
not.

‘One thousand.’ She forced herself to count internally. ‘Two thousand . . . Three thousand . . . Four . . .’

The heave of her chest settled gradually.

Sylvia clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Kate. I can see this is very difficult for you. Would you like to tell me what happened?’

‘No,’ Kate said, gratefully feeling her composure gradually return. ‘It was years ago. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Not right now.’

She sat up, determined, facing Sylvia. It was time.

‘I’m here because I do sums.’

‘Sums?’

‘Yes. Obsessively. All the time, in my head.’

‘Could you tell me what kind of sums?’

Kate shrugged.

‘I calculate stuff . . . statistics. Constantly. To stop more bad things happening to us.’

‘You and your son?’

‘Jack. Yes.’

‘Could you give me an example?’

‘Well, I could. But before I do, I need to know something.’

‘Please.’

Kate sat forwards. ‘If I tell you, do you have the power to take away my son?’

Sylvia blinked. Just once. ‘Kate, if I feel a child is in immediate danger, I have an obligation to take some action. But the fact that you are here, seeking help in relation to your son, makes me think you are a good mother.’

Kate nodded, surprised. ‘I try to be,’ she said, fighting back fresh tears.

‘Well, why don’t we concentrate on you? Can you tell me more about these sums?’

Kate looked out of the window. For a whole minute, she didn’t speak.

‘OK, there was a lot of traffic tonight so I decided to cycle. But before I cycled, I did a sum. I worked out that because it’s May, my chances of having a bike accident are higher because it’s summer, and about 80 per cent of accidents take place during daylight hours, but more than half of cycling fatalities happen at road junctions, so if I went off-road I could lower it drastically. So I did. And because I am thirty-five, I have more chance of having an accident than another woman in Oxfordshire in her twenties, but because I was wearing my helmet, I have – according to one American report I read, anyway – about an 85 per cent chance of reducing my risk of head injury. Then, when I was cycling I balanced my chances of having an accident with the fact that by doing half an hour of sustained cardio cycling, I can lower my risk of getting cancer. Of course, that meant I increased my chances of being sexually attacked by being alone on a quiet canal path, but as I have roughly a one in a thousand chance in Oxfordshire, I think it’s worth taking.’

She thought she saw Sylvia flinch.

‘And then when I was cycling here, I kept doing calculations. When I passed through Osney weir, I didn’t think how pretty it was; I looked for the tree I’d cling on to if I accidentally fell in, and planned how I’d swim with the current, not against it, because if you plan your escape you improve your chances of survival. And when I passed the waterside flats at Botley, I didn’t think how lovely it must be to live there, I thought about how I’d just read that three thousand properties are at risk of a one-in-a-hundred-year flood in Oxford. Same when I passed the cottages backing on to the river path at Jericho: I thought about how more burglaries take place at the rear of a house, and . . .’

Her breath ran out, as if her lungs had been squeezed like an airbed to be packed away.

‘They just come at me like swarms. I can’t explain it any other way. They come out of nowhere.’

Sylvia kept her arms and legs uncrossed, pointed resolutely at Kate.

‘Where do you get these figures from?’

‘I Google them – I get them from insurance websites, newspapers. Every day the newspapers have new figures about how to lower or increase the chances of things happening to you – not that it’s always clear, because they contradict each other sometimes, and I get them muddled up, but . . .’

‘And you compile them, what, into lists?’

‘Yes. But when the laptop got stolen, I lost my list, so I’ve been trying to remember until the new one is delivered next week. I can remember quite a lot, roughly anyway, and I use my iPhone when I can. And I know it’s stupid, but I’m worried that I might be getting some figures completely wrong and changing my chances of things happening. Like today – I picked my son up from football because his PE teacher is in his twenties, which I think – if I remember rightly – makes him more likely to have an accident than I am. But my phone battery needed charging, and the kids were travelling in a minibus, and I didn’t know how safe that was, so I picked Jack up anyway, in front of his friends, and he just looked so . . .’

She slumped.

‘Oh God. I know what it sounds like.’

‘What does it sound like, Kate?’

‘Crazy.’ She sniffed. ‘It sounds crazy.’

‘Crazy that you want to protect your son?’

Kate looked up, surprised. She wiped her eyes again. ‘Thank you. My in-laws think I’m crazy. They don’t understand that’s all I’m trying to do. After his dad . . .’ Her voice faded away. ‘I see their faces when I talk about these things, especially in front of Jack. The thing is, I want him to know. I want him to be careful because I’m so scared of anything happening to him too. It’s my responsibility to keep him safe. And yet, at the same time, I know it worries him.’ She wiped her nose. The words she’d hidden for so long were coming thick and fast now. ‘The thing is, I find it hard to judge any more if I’m being rational or not. Like last week – I spent over a thousand pounds in a private clinic in London having a whole-body scan.’

Sylvia shifted in her seat. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Kate, are you . . .?’

Kate waved her hand. ‘No. Not at all. I do one every year to check that I’m not becoming ill. That I don’t have even the
start
of a tumour. Because I keep reading that catching tumours early can increase your chances of survival. I have to be there for Jack, now Hugo has gone, you see.’ She pushed the wet tissues below her eyes as if physically holding back any more tears. ‘I mean, is that normal? I don’t know any more.’ She placed the tissues on her lap and sniffed. ‘When Hugo was here he’d rein me in. When my parents died, and Jack was a baby, I was all over the place, but he never let it get out of hand. He’d let me go into meltdown when I needed to – but then he’d also expect me to be normal sometimes, too. That made me expect it, too.’

Sylvia nodded. ‘He gave you perspective.’

‘Mmm. I had bad days and good days, then eventually more good days. But now, it’s not even about bad days. It’s gone so far past that that it’s like I’m in free fall. That I’ll never get back.’

Kate put her head in her hands, concentrating on the swirl of the rug below. From between her knees, she heard the forbidden words emerge from her mouth.

‘I miss Hugo so much.’

Sylvia allowed the words to echo around the room.

Kate touched a hand to her hot cheeks.

They sat together silently for a while.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kate said finally, sitting back. ‘I’m all over the place today.’

Sylvia regarded her warmly. ‘First sessions can be very emotional, Kate. You’ve waited a long time to talk about some very private and distressing feelings.’

Kate nodded. ‘Thanks. You must think I’m a complete lunatic.’

Sylvia sat very still, giving nothing away with her body language, Kate noted.

‘I certainly don’t think you’re a lunatic. I think you have been very brave coming here. From the little you’ve told me, I think you are a young woman who has experienced extreme trauma and has understandably been left with overwhelming feelings of anxiety. But you’re here now, and that’s the first step.’

Kate licked her dry lips. ‘Really?’

Sylvia nodded. ‘Absolutely. Now, before we go on, can I fetch you a glass of water?’

Kate nodded gratefully.

Sylvia stood up. She walked out of the sitting room, leaving the door ajar.

Kate sat back into the comfortable chair. She looked round the room again. This wouldn’t be a bad place to sit for an hour or two a week. This woman might really help her find her way back to Jack.

As she allowed the silence to calm her, the sound of laughter drifted from a room in the back of the house.

A man laughing. Followed by a murmuring of voices.

Sylvia’s voice, and a man’s voice. Kate strained her ears to hear what they were saying.

They were talking. Sylvia and a man. He was laughing.

She sat up straight.

A second later, she heard Sylvia’s heavy step on the hall tiles. She entered the room with a glass of water and shut the door.

‘Sorry about that.’

Kate stared. ‘Is there someone else here?’

Sylvia sat down. ‘Um, Kate, that’s something we should clarify. As you know, I see clients in the evening, but because I work from home, I should explain that there may be people around from time to time. But I can assure you that nobody can hear our discussions. Everything we say in here is confidential.’

Kate paused to choose her words carefully.

‘You were laughing.’

Sylvia folded her hands on her lap. ‘Oh. Kate. I promise you that I was not laughing. And it was nothing at all to do with you.’

‘But who was it?’

‘Is that important to you?’

‘Yes. It is.’

Sylvia kept her jaw strong. ‘It was my husband. He just walked in through the garage door talking to a colleague on his mobile. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting him home this early. He didn’t realize that I had a client.’

My husband.

Kate flinched. When this woman said the word ‘husband’, it didn’t stick in her mouth. It didn’t hurt. It spoke of a life where husbands came home early, not of a life where they never came home.

Different.

Very different.

Same as everyone else.

Pushing her hands on the firm chair, Kate reluctantly stood up.

Sylvia blinked. ‘Kate, we still have forty minutes left.’

Kate fumbled in her pockets. ‘You know, when Hugo died, they told me not to start bereavement counselling too early. They said I needed to process things first. And by that point, it hurt so badly, I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to cry any more. And I think that maybe that was a mistake now.’ She pulled out some money. ‘I came here because of the damage that decision has done to my son. And what do you do? I tell you these awful things, that I’ve told no one in five years, and you go into the kitchen . . .’ She gave Sylvia an astonished look. ‘. . . And you laugh.’

Sylvia stood up. ‘Kate. I’m so sorry. Please sit down and we can talk a little more.’

‘No,’ Kate said, placing the money on the oak table and walking to the door. She waved a hand around the room.

‘You know, I imagine some of your clients might feel intimidated by this house. But the irony is that, if I wanted, I could buy it. That’s what happens when all the people around you are killed. You’d be amazed at how much money people give you. Like this horrible consolation prize. But, you know what? I’d give it all up to escape from this.’ She pointed at her head. ‘To feel like I used to, even for one day. To be a normal person again, and a decent mother.’

A lump came into her throat. What had she said to this woman? What had she been thinking even coming here?

‘Kate!’ Sylvia exclaimed, standing up. ‘Please. I’m so sorry if you feel I’ve let you down. Could we discuss it a little more?’

Kate held up her hand. ‘If you tell anyone what I told you, or talk to anyone about my son, I’ll deny I was ever here.’