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RACHEL I approached my son’s bedside with a lifetime of love to give him, and with the humility of somebody who’s been brought to her knees in every way imaginable. I came to him with a surfeit of relief and emotion that should have made for a perfect Hollywood moment, with full orchestral accompaniment and box of Kleenex required. The works. But it wasn’t like that. When I entered the room, I saw that he had his back to me, and he lay curled up under layers of blankets, motionless and small, the outline of his body making an angular shape. I saw the back of his head, his sandy hair unkempt, without lustre. One of his arms lay on top of the blanket. A garish hospital gown covered some of it, but his forearm protruded, bare until the wrist where a thick bandage was wrapped around it, securing a cannula, which was attached to a tube, down which a transparent liquid crawled, dripping into his vein. Closer. An oxygen mask was on the pillow beside his head, hissing. I could see the side of his face now, his profile. His lips were chapped and paper-thin eyelids covered eyes that were twitching beneath. His eyelashes were long and beautiful as ever, though they did little to mask the deep dark patches under his eyes and the grey pallor of his skin. ‘Ben,’ I whispered. I touched the skin on his temples with the side of my hand; it was the softest skin you could ever touch. I pushed a strand or two of his hair back from his forehead. He didn’t respond. He was sleeping the sleep of the dead. Behind me, the doctor said, ‘He may take a few minutes to wake up properly.’ He was standing awkwardly by the door, keeping his distance. I knew he was there because they were frightened of what my reunion with Ben could do to him. ‘Ben,’ I said. ‘It’s me, Mummy.’ I sat down on the side of his bed. I wanted him to wake up, I wanted him to come to me, to pitch into my arms as if he’d been falling from a great height and had finally landed in a place of safety. His eyelids flickered open, then shut again. ‘Love,’ I said. ‘It’s Mummy. I’m here. Ben.’ Another flicker and then I had them: bright blue eyes. They didn’t move in the usual way though. They looked past me at first, and it was only when I said his name again that they slid towards me, locked onto mine. He blinked. My head sank onto his, my breath on his face, his head motionless beneath me. I kissed him, my tears slid from my cheeks onto his. I felt his lips move, and I pulled back so I could see him better, hear him. ‘What did you say, Ben? What did you say?’ Eyes slid shut again, a twitch of movement in his arm. And I thought, where is my child, the one who could never stay still, whose every movement was brimming with life? His breathing faltered audibly and I heard the doctor step forward, but it settled again and the doctor contented himself with moving the oxygen mask closer to Ben’s mouth. I felt terrible, terrible sadness building in me, a feeling so powerful that it hurt, and it made my hands shake. I looked at the doctor, his eyes powerfully kind and his words steady: ‘Give him some time.’ And he was right, because Ben stirred, and his eyes met mine again, and even though they seemed to slip out of focus, his lips moved and this time a word was audible on his outtake of air. ‘Mummy.’
And tears began to roll slowly, silently down his cheeks. I took him in my arms, even though the doctor stepped forward as if to stop me, then thought better of it. I scooped Ben up, onto my lap, and I held his limp, small body close to mine and in return I thought I felt some strength in his arms, and then it was a firmer squeeze and he clung to me. He did that weakly, and wordlessly, but we stayed like that for so long that eventually the doctor had to prise him gently away. After the medical staff had laid him back down, they tidied him up, adjusted his cannula and checked that he was properly connected to his machines. When they stepped away, Ben’s eyes met mine with more consciousness in them than they’d had before. And I smiled, because that was what I wanted from him most of all, a smile. It was the last thing I’d seen on his face before he left me in the woods, and I wanted to see it again. But my smile wasn’t answered, because his eyes moved away again, and the lids slid down over the tears that still fell, and he turned his head away from me. And here’s the thing: I wasn’t sure whether that was because he was exhausted and dangerously unwell, or because there were things deep inside his eyes that he didn’t want me to see. It was a beautiful reunion for me. It was. The feel of Ben’s arms around me was everything I’d dreamed of, every second he’d been away. But the other bits, his desperate physical condition, the sorrow that was deeply, soundlessly buried within him, and the way he dodged my gaze, I won’t deny it – this is supposed to be a truthful account after all – they were profoundly frightening. Did you want catharsis? So did I. But there was none. I’m sorry.
- Page 272 and 273: JIM Nine o’clock Sunday morning,
- Page 274 and 275: RACHEL The hospital receptionist se
- Page 276 and 277: JIM Addendum to DI James Clemo’s
- Page 278 and 279: RACHEL My cab driver on the way hom
- Page 280 and 281: tall bear of a man, with very dark
- Page 282 and 283: ‘To be honest, I assumed Nicky wo
- Page 284 and 285: He actually put his hand over his h
- Page 286 and 287: ‘Cool,’ my avatar said. ‘New
- Page 288 and 289: me wants you here to run the invest
- Page 290 and 291: I behaved in an arrogant and disgus
- Page 292 and 293: RACHEL I logged on to Furry Footbal
- Page 294 and 295: ‘I know it was him,’ I said. Th
- Page 296 and 297: Her handbag was on the seat between
- Page 298 and 299: so that my toes were already numb.
- Page 300 and 301: ‘It’s what Miss May said, about
- Page 302 and 303: He sat back down. ‘Again,’ he s
- Page 304 and 305: JIM Nicky Forbes was disturbed by m
- Page 306 and 307: RACHEL It took me twenty-five minut
- Page 308 and 309: here. And then I saw something else
- Page 310 and 311: JIM Nicky Forbes’s expression was
- Page 312 and 313: RACHEL They prised me up off the ca
- Page 314 and 315: Operator: OK. They’re a few minut
- Page 316 and 317: RECORD OF EVIDENCE: AVON AND SOMERS
- Page 318 and 319: RACHEL Bristol Children’s Hospita
- Page 320 and 321: ‘Is the child all right?’ Mrs M
- Page 324 and 325: EPILOGUE CHRISTMAS 2013 - ONE YEAR,
- Page 326 and 327: RACHEL A few weeks ago, somebody as
- Page 328 and 329: that he loved so much in return. Th
- Page 330 and 331: JIM Addendum to DI James Clemo’s
- Page 332 and 333: JC: Yes. FM: Have you seen her sinc
- Page 334 and 335: RACHEL We might never have closure,
- Page 336 and 337: us that. He came to our house and w
- Page 338: BIBLIOGRAPHY The following websites
And tears began to roll slowly, silently down his cheeks.<br />
I took him in my arms, even though the doctor stepped forward as if to stop me, then thought better<br />
of it. I scooped Ben up, onto my lap, and I held his limp, small body close to mine and in return I<br />
thought I felt some strength in his arms, and then it was a firmer squeeze and he clung to me. He did<br />
that weakly, and wordlessly, but we stayed like that for so long that eventually the doctor had to prise<br />
him gently away.<br />
After the medical staff had laid him back down, they tidied him up, adjusted his cannula and<br />
checked that he was properly connected to his machines. When they stepped away, Ben’s eyes met<br />
mine with more consciousness in them than they’d had before.<br />
And I smiled, because that was what I wanted from him most of all, a smile. It was the last thing I’d<br />
seen on his face before he left me in the woods, and I wanted to see it again. But my smile wasn’t<br />
answered, because his eyes moved away again, and the lids slid down over the tears that still fell,<br />
and he turned his head away from me.<br />
And here’s the thing: I wasn’t sure whether that was because he was exhausted and dangerously<br />
unwell, or because there were things deep inside his eyes that he didn’t want me to see.<br />
It was a beautiful reunion for me. It was. The feel of Ben’s arms around me was everything I’d<br />
dreamed of, every second he’d been away. But the other bits, his desperate physical condition, the<br />
sorrow that was deeply, soundlessly buried within him, and the way he dodged my gaze, I won’t deny<br />
it – this is supposed to be a truthful account after all – they were profoundly frightening.<br />
Did you want catharsis? So did I. But there was none. I’m sorry.