‘Again, good, good.’
He nodded his head, relieved that I wasn’t carrying with me any problems for him to deal with. He blew his nose into a cloth handkerchief. ‘Just so long as you know that if, you know . . . um . . . if you need more time to . . . um . . . or if there’s anything I can do to help, then you only have to ask.’
‘Thank you,’ I replied, and quietly shook my head as he led me out of his office. He’d be the last person I’d ask for help.
I made my way along the corridor knowing he wasn’t alone in not having the first clue what to say to me. If it was cancer or a heart condition that had killed Charlotte, people might have related to me better, because many people have lost someone to one of those illnesses. But when it’s an invisible problem like mental health or suicide, people aren’t sure how to talk about it. They’d rather say nothing than end up saying something insensitive, stupid or becoming tongue-tied. It made for a lonelier life for me, though.
I again felt a pinch in my stomach where the skin was still healing from the knife wound. It wasn’t enough to make me wince, but I was aware of it all the same. I’d delayed my return to school by two weeks by telling them I needed a hernia operation, not the fact I’d been stabbed and left for dead by a pupil’s sociopathic mother. It would explain the scar the blade left if anyone ever noticed it.
I recalled how when Laura had fled the cottage that night, I’d remained bent double on the floor feeling like my whole body was on fire from the burning pain of the open wound.
Soon after I heard her drive away, I knew I needed to seek help. I couldn’t phone for an ambulance and I contemplated calling my parents, but I’d have too much explaining to do. I had no choice but to deal with it myself.
Each step I took, down the stairs, along the path and towards my car, was agonising, and once inside I held a handkerchief to the wound to stem the bleeding. The journey to Northampton General Hospital’s accident and emergency department took fifteen minutes but felt hours longer. And after dumping the car in a disabled space and dragging myself through the entrance and to the reception desk, a nurse saw me clutching my belly and a circle of blood on my shirt and whisked me straight into a cubicle.
The rest of the night was a blur. I was probed by doctors assessing and stabilising me. They checked my circulation, gave me an oxygen mask, an IV and an X-ray, and cleaned me up. While I’d lost blood, it wasn’t enough to require a transfusion, and thankfully the blade hadn’t penetrated any vital organs or the stomach itself, so only stitches were required. When they asked for next of kin, I claimed to be estranged from them.
The following morning, a woman in a white medical jacket and smart suit introduced herself as a psychiatric nurse and quietly questioned me on how I came to be injured. I told her it was the result of a botched attempt at ripping up some rotting floorboards but she didn’t seem convinced.
‘It’s our policy to report wounds that we judge to be suspicious to the police,’ she replied.
‘No, don’t do that,’ I replied, feeling the panic rising inside me. ‘It was an honest mistake. I’m clumsy and wanted to save some money instead of calling professionals in. Seriously, send someone around to my house to see the mess I’ve made of it if you don’t believe me.’
I hoped she wouldn’t call my bluff. She went on to ask me all kinds of questions, to see if I had mental health issues and the wound was self-inflicted. Eventually she left and another nurse said I could be discharged later that day, as long as I had antibiotics and someone to escort me home.
When I saw Johnny speaking to the psychiatric nurse shortly before collecting me, she knew I’d been lying about my ‘estranged’ family. Now I’d have to start lying to him, too.
‘So you stabbed yourself doing some DIY to the cottage,’ he began sternly as he drove my car. ‘Since when have you done home improvements?’
‘I thought I’d give it a go. Maybe not the best idea, eh?’ I gave a forced laugh.
‘At eight o’clock in the evening, you tried to repair some floorboards with a knife. On your own.’ He was trying to pick holes in my story.
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing and I know I should’ve left it for Dad to do. You haven’t told him about this, have you?’
‘If I had, he’d be here right now with me. I don’t like keeping secrets from him or Mum.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.’
‘Yeah, you are.’ He hesitated before he spoke again, like he was choosing his words carefully. ‘Tell me you didn’t do this on purpose. And that despite all the crap that’s happened to you, you’re strong enough to keep fighting. Don’t let what happened to Charlotte define you or swallow you up. You’re better than that.’
‘Of course I didn’t,’ I replied. When he failed to reply, I knew he didn’t believe me.
We spent the rest of the journey in an awkward silence, my hand pressed on the padding over my sutures.
At this point, I knew I should have called it quits. I’d got what I wanted, in that I’d scared the hell out of Laura Morris. And she’d been lucky to escape before I’d finished what I’d planned, even leaving me for dead. So, it would have been the time to approach her boss at End of the Line, tell them my story and play them my recordings. Then I could vanish from Laura’s life, knowing she wouldn’t be harming anyone else who called in need of a sympathetic ear.
But a week or so recuperating at home gave me time to dwell on what had happened. Yes, I’d quite obviously terrified her, but now it wasn’t enough just to take her job away from her. People like Laura are slaves to their compulsions. They do what they want to and they don’t give a damn about who gets hurt. I’d bet my life’s savings the Helpline Heroine would be back trawling Internet message boards searching for more potential victims within days of being sacked.
Taking her down had brought out something unexpected in me, some joyous, vindictive feeling. I needed to find another way to get at her.
I opened the Facebook app on my phone. Laura had taken away the person I loved the most, and she needed to know how that felt. I vowed to get to her in another way.
And now I was back at work and in a routine again, I had the means at my disposal to begin.
CHAPTER THREE
LAURA
I examined my reflection in all three mirrors in the unattended changing rooms.