I hear him sigh. ‘Okay, then,’ he says, and hangs up.
Leticia’s mother comes closer, her eyes wet with tears. We have met a couple of times before but don’t know each other very well. To my surprise, she puts her arms around me, wrapping me in a bear hug. ‘Thank you so much for coming in with her.’ She plonks down in a chair, and I sit beside her. ‘I don’t know what to do next. I’m ashamed to say I’m almost glad this has happened. It forces the issue, makes us more likely to get Tish the help she needs.’ She glances at the ceiling, inhales deeply, and then the words come out in a rush. ‘I don’t know what else to do. I can’t force her to eat. I can’t watch her 24/7. I feel like I’m holding her hostage, standing over her, making her do things she doesn’t want to do. She won’t answer me half the time, just looks at me like I’m torturing her. But what’s the alternative?’
I think of the difficulties I have talking to Georgia, and my heart goes out to this woman. A few hours ago I envied her, but my problems with Georgia seem like nothing compared to this. I am searching for some reassuring words as a doctor enters the room and heads for us. We both jump to our feet.
The doctor holds a hand out as though to halt us. ‘You can go and see her in a second. You’re Mum, yes?’ She looks across to Mrs Jenkins. ‘Your daughter’s heart rate is very low, so we’d like to admit her straightaway. We’re also keen to begin feeding her intravenously as soon as possible once we’ve talked to her; she has a counsellor with her now. We’ll need your consent on all this, of course.’
Leticia’s mum begins to cry, and the doctor puts a consoling hand on her arm. ‘You know, there are professionals who have spent years studying anorexia and they still find it enormously difficult to treat. You’ll know for yourself that when someone has an eating disorder, they don’t go for help – they withdraw, they turn on the people closest to them, they become obsessive. Their single-mindedness is incredible, really – it’s terrible that such strength of purpose is their downfall.’ She smiles kindly. ‘Would you like to come with me?’
Mrs Jenkins nods and collects her bag from the chair. The doctor strides ahead and waits, holding the door open as Leticia’s mother turns back to me. ‘Thank you again,’ she says, clasping my hands.
‘You’re welcome,’ I tell her. And a burst of emotion makes me add fiercely, ‘She might be lost right now, but don’t give up. I know you can reach her. And I hope she can find herself again.’
She gives me a brief hug, then turns away. Over her head, I see the doctor’s shrewd gaze lingering on me. What is she seeing, I wonder. Is it the flushed cheeks from my racing heart, or my trembling fingers, or do I have other nervous tells? Because what she said has set my mind into overdrive. She had been talking about Leticia, and yet as I ticked the symptoms off one by one, I had been thinking about Georgia.
My brain whirls faster and faster, until all I can think is Georgia Georgia Georgia. I need to calm down. I will feel better if I could just talk to her. I call her mobile, but there is no answer. I call Callum’s, but it goes straight through to voicemail. He will be driving. They will be here soon. There’s more than one explanation for those symptoms, I tell myself. She is safe.
I take a seat in the waiting room, hanging on to one of the cool plastic arms of a chair until the fear has spun itself into exhaustion. I remind myself of all the occasions where I have watched Georgia eat recently. She wolfed down the chicken casserole I made last week. I saw her help herself to a big slab of chocolate cake only a few days ago.
Suppose she went to the bathroom afterwards and threw it all up? Truthfully, I wouldn’t know. I’ve always put Georgia’s slim frame down to running and youthful genes, and never considered anything else. But as I do, there is something false in the image I’m selling myself – I’m playing spot-the-difference with the doctor’s description of Leticia. I can’t figure it out, but I’m convinced that it’s a big deal. Something is chipping away at my daughter, hollowing her out, and I need to find out what it is and put a stop to it.
Once I have recovered my equilibrium, I call Helene. She answers in a whisper, her tone flat. I explain why I’m at the hospital and ask about visiting.
‘It would be nice to see you, Anya, but I’m not sure it’s the best thing for Sophia. She is just starting to come around, and she’s still in shock.’