Don't Stand So Close (29 page)

She looked at his profile. He was frowning, concentrating on driving. He must see now that he also needed to be more careful. He knew now what she might do if he refused to see her. She wasn’t about to lie down and let him walk all over her.

The car slowed down. He pulled off the main road and drove up a small side bit until they were hidden behind a row of frozen trees. It felt weird, very quiet. There were no other cars.

He turned off the engine but his hands still gripped the
steering wheel. He was just staring, out of the front window.

Blue began to feel nervous.

‘Why are we stopping?’ she asked him.

She was getting a bad feeling. ‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘Answer me.’

But he wouldn’t talk to her. He was angry: about what she had said to his wife. He was going to punish her.

She undid her seatbelt and tried the handle, it wasn’t locked. She got out of the car and slammed the door. She thought about running.

The headlights died and she was left in the cold and the dark.

She had stepped into a deep pile of snow, her trainers were completely covered. The blanket Stella had tucked around her was inside the car and now she was freezing. She wrapped her arms tight around her chest. There was no point trying to get away from him. She would get back into the car and say she was sorry.

As she reached for the handle, she heard the locks clicking. She grabbed at the door, pulled and pulled at it.

She banged on the window with her fists. ‘Open it! Please! I’m so cold. Please!’

The engine came to life and the car began to move.

He was going to leave her.

‘Don’t! Please!’ She ran after the car, screaming and begging although he would not hear her. She had pushed him too far, he would hurt her now, make her pay for what she’d done. She slipped on the ice, her knee smashed down underneath her. She squatted down, and rocked, back and forth as she watched him abandon her. The tears were wet and warm against her cheeks.

But the car stopped.

She jerked to her feet and ran, pulling at the door handle and finding it still locked. Her knee throbbed with pain.

She stood with her hands pressed against the window, in the cold. Trembling. Freezing. They had taken her jacket, her bag, her phone. She had nothing

He watched. The glass was burning her fingers but she did not move. He waited a long time, watched her cry. Then he leaned over and pushed the door open and she climbed back in. Her hands had turned a furious red, her ears were on fire. She was shaking with cold, even with the blanket now back around her shoulders. Soon she would have a big fat bruise on her knee.

‘Have I ever done anything except help you?’ he said. ‘Didn’t I give you what you wanted?’ His eyes were red-rimmed. He frightened her.

She nodded. Everything outside was so strange. The sky was silver, even the trees were glowing. She understood now. He could do anything he wanted with her.

‘Why did you go to my house tonight, Blue?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘Yes, you do.’

‘I phoned your office and they wouldn’t let me talk to you. I was angry. And lonely. I wanted to be with you; I wanted to see where you live. I wanted to see your wife. I thought – if I told her what happened – maybe she’d leave you. Maybe – I don’t know. I wanted to punish you. I wanted you to know what it feels like.’

‘And? Are you happy now?’

‘No.Your wife doesn’t believe me. She really loves you. And she trusts you.’ She shifted around in her seat. The
windows had misted up and she couldn’t see out any more. ‘Do you love her?’

‘Of course I do.’

She didn’t believe him.

‘Do you love me?’ She breathed in deep, she wanted to keep the smell of him inside her for ever. ‘I don’t want to be alive if I can’t see you any more. Please. I’ll do anything.’

He put his head back and laughed. ‘You are a piece of work, Blue.’

He uncurled his white knuckles from around the steering wheel and stroked her icy cheek. He ran his fingers across her mouth. She parted her lips and kissed the tip of his thumb, then caught it between her teeth. She was still shivering.

‘I’ll never not love you,’ she said. ‘I won’t give up. I won’t stop. Please don’t be angry. I could have made them believe me, if I wanted to. But I didn’t. I’ll tell them I was lying – what I said about us. At the hospital.’

‘That would certainly make life simpler.’

‘I’ll tell them you just tried to help me. That nothing ever happened. I’ll do anything you tell me.’

‘Baby girl,’ he said. ‘Are you still sleepy?’

She was tired and the cold was inside her bones, but she was starting to feel happy.

‘I don’t want to go to hospital. My hands aren’t that bad.’

‘You have to.’

‘Let me stay with you.’

‘You ran away from home and you talked to my wife. The police are involved now. I have no choice. I have to take you to hospital.’

She bit down on his thumb. He leaned his head back.

‘I’m not letting you go,’ she said. ‘I’m yours now. You can give me as many jabs as you like. They wear off.’

She sucked on his thumb.

‘Let’s be clear about what happens when we get to the hospital,’ he said. ‘If you tell any more stories, you know what happens. Even if someone does believe you – they will put you in foster care.’

She nodded.

‘Can I trust you?’

‘Yes. I promise.’

‘All you need to do is agree with everything I say. Tell them how sorry you are that you made up those lies.’

She nodded. Sucked his thumb deeper into her mouth.

‘We can play this down,’ he said. ‘It’ll all blow over quickly – I’ll tell them that I understand you came out tonight to find me because you were looking for help. You made a mistake, of course – coming out to my house – but in a way, it was a healthy choice: coming to find your doctor, instead of cutting yourself. I see it as progress. Such a good girl.’

‘And then?’ she asked him.

‘And then no more running away. No more dramatics. I’ll try my best to convince them to discharge you back to your mother’s care.’

‘When will I see you again?’

‘We have to be careful. If you talk about what happened between us again then I’ll have no power to help you. Do you understand?’

She nodded. ‘I promise.’

He put his hand on top of hers. He squeezed. He unravelled the bandages and covered her bleeding palm with
kisses. He knew he was hurting her. And even when he hurt her, it excited her. She felt perfectly happy. She could make him want her. She could have him back. They were the same, she and him. They belonged together.

She felt sorry for his wife, she really did.

Hilltop stood at the top of a hill, on a road called Victoria Avenue. The house was proud and awkward, two storeys high, a startling white and unapologetic in its modernist glory. The black-framed windows seemed to look down condescendingly upon the neighbours: rows of mouse-brown sixties brick terraced townhouses.

Stella felt an immediate connection with the strange house that seemed so utterly out of place.

Max drove past the low, curved front wall and along the crescent-shaped driveway. She was pleased to hear gravel crunching under the tyres of the Mercedes; if she lived here, she would always be able to hear footsteps or wheels approaching.

Sandra, the estate agent, was parked at the top of the drive, ready and waiting. By the looks of her sporty gunmetal convertible, the property market in the area had not been too badly affected by the recession. Sandra was a petite woman in her fifties, wearing a tailored suit and bold red lipstick. Stella shook hands politely, feeling like a teenage impostor pretending she could afford a mansion. Max evidently could, as a result of a sizeable inheritance from his mother’s estate.

Just inside the steel front door, Sandra knelt down and
removed her stilettos. Stella followed suit and took off her pumps. She was hovering, suspended above herself once more: several pills and a lot of coaxing on Max’s part had been needed to get her out of the Hampstead apartment. Now, with her husband at her side, at the threshold of a new life, she felt almost contented.

‘So you’re newlyweds!’ Sandra said.

Stella smiled. Max did not remove his shoes.

‘Congratulations,’ said Sandra.

The wedding had been a brief, no-frills affair at the Marylebone register office. Stella remembered swallowing a cocktail of pills and having nothing suitable to wear. In the end, she chose a plain linen shift. In her darker, more insecure moments, it wasn’t entirely clear to her why Max had accepted her impulsive proposal. But he had. And now he walked, several steps in front of her, into the entrance hall. He did not look back to see if she followed. Stella wondered if Sandra had noticed the absence of honeymoon-like enthusiasm or affection.

Her new husband peered upward at the spectacular chandelier that cascaded down the curved concrete steps. She wanted to feel his hand warm on the small of her back as they explored the house. She walked closer to him, until they stood side by side. ‘Are we really going to buy this house?’ she asked.

He could not tear his eyes away from the chandelier.

Sandra offered Stella a glossy brochure. Hilltop was pictured on a day saturated in sunshine.

Stella wondered about Max’s decision to bring her to live in this house that was so stark, so severe, with an absence of soft curves. He would keep the flat in Hampstead, but they would live here.
You need a complete change. Post-traumatic
stress disorder. Agoraphobia
. Her thoughts drifted, she was so often lethargic, only half awake. I’ll be like Rapunzel in the tower, she thought. She would be glad to leave the city; she could have a fresh start. She imagined she had entered a very beautiful cage.

Contracts were exchanged within eight weeks.

After six months of living in their new house, Max moved into the guest bedroom. He said he did not want to wake her when he left early each morning for the clinic on Grove Road. Stella found it difficult to sleep without him next to her. She would stay up into the early hours of the morning, watching television. Every morning after Max left for work, Stella pounded the treadmill. She dreaded his departure and she hated being left alone. The endorphin rush enabled her to get through the solitude.

A security system was installed. The most important aspect was the sensor that would emit a loud, foghorn-like noise if anyone breached the perimeter of the property. For the most part Stella felt safe, inside Hilltop, up on the hill, looking down at the green treetops.

Peter pulled up right outside the entrance of Accident and Emergency, behind an ambulance. Stella fumbled with her seatbelt. She jumped down from the car, not stopping to allow for thought, and rushed into the squat, grey building, through the automatic glass doors.

In the waiting room, people in various states of illness, intoxication or injury were lined up on plastic chairs, but there was no sign of Blue. Max must have wielded some influence to wangle his way up the queue.

Unless he had taken Blue somewhere else entirely. The churning in the pit of her stomach intensified.

Stella approached the tired-looking nurse behind the plate-glass window. ‘I’m looking for my husband,’ she said. ‘He came in with a teenage girl, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes ago?’

‘Name?’

‘Fisher,’ she said. ‘Dr Max Fisher.’

‘They’re waiting for the triage nurse now. You can go through.’ The nurse pointed to a door on the right. Perhaps she assumed Stella was Blue’s mother. Stella kept moving,
hoping the diazepam would hold her on an even keel, would not fail her. She needed more time. Peter was parking the car, who knows how far away, and she couldn’t risk the delay. She approached a blue door, knocked and barged in without waiting for an invitation.

Blue was hunched on a chair, staring at the floor, swinging her legs. Her suspicious blue eyes stared out at Stella. She did not look pleased to see her.

‘I’m so glad I found you,’ Stella said. She felt a tremendous warm wave of relief. Blue was awake and in one piece, she was safe.

Max sat upright in the chair next to Blue, distant behind his black-rimmed glasses and his beard. He too did not appear overjoyed at her sudden appearance. Stella thought she saw irritation flit across his face, but he was quick to conceal his response.

‘Can I help you?’ The triage nurse, in her crease-free uniform, was young, she couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a tidy braid. Max would have her twisted around his little finger in no time at all.

‘Are you Mum?’ the nurse asked.

She inspected Stella over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses and Stella realized how unkempt she was.

‘No,’ Stella said. ‘I’m a psychologist.’ It was the only thing she could think of to say, by way of explanation for her sudden appearance.

‘I’m assessing the patient,’ the nurse said. ‘Can you wait in the waiting room?’ There was no sign of Peter. Stella faltered, unsure how to proceed. She could not leave Blue alone with Max. She stayed planted in the doorway, trying not to tremble or sway. There was a list of emergency numbers
tacked to the wall above the telephone. Surely child protection services must be amongst them.

‘It’s very important that you contact social services straight away,’ she said to the nurse.

‘Stella—’ Max said.

‘A police officer is on his way, he’ll be here in a few minutes,’ Stella said. ‘Please contact child protection services immediately. This girl is known to them. She needs her social worker here as soon as possible.’

The nurse looked uncertain. She glanced at Max, as if for guidance. Stella repeated herself, loudly. ‘You need to call child protection services right now. This child has disclosed domestic violence and emotional abuse. I suggest you review your protocol and follow it – quickly.’

The nurse looked at Max once again. ‘Social services are already on their way,’ she said. ‘Dr Fisher has already informed us about what needs to be done.’