The Nurse(9)

I knew how she’d be feeling… not long ago, it would have been me lying there suffering an overwhelming, bewildering, painful sadness. It almost made me rush to her side. Instead, I turned to Ashling, looked her up and down, and sniffed. ‘Seriously, that’s so childish.’ Without another word I walked away, shaking my head as if in disappointment.

‘Lissa’s right,’ Marie said, and followed me. When I looked back, seconds later, Ashling was standing alone.

For the remainder of my time in primary school I kept out of trouble.





7





Despite the passing of years, Jemma’s eyes continued to haunt me. I struggled to understand what she’d been trying to say those last few seconds as she lay dying. Maybe she’d been asking for my forgiveness… I like to think that was the answer, but I wasn’t sure and perhaps that was why I couldn’t shake her off. Or maybe haunting me was her retribution.

It should have been enough to stop me ever killing again but then needs must when the devil drives.

Mostly, I gave what happened in the playground little thought. Life had quickly returned to its usual routine: my father resumed his schedule of three to four nights a week and alternate weekends away, my mother to her cycle of neglect and indulgence.

And it would have probably continued that way, if life had a channel carved in stone to run along. But it doesn’t, it changes course unexpectedly.





I was sitting at the desk in my bedroom working on an essay for my English class when the doorbell brought my head up with a grunt of irritation. My mother was at the supermarket. I hoped whoever it was would give up and go away. We didn’t get many callers though, and curiosity dragged me from my desk to pull back the curtain and peer around the edge.

A police car was pulled up on the road outside. Surprised, but not yet worried, I moved to the other side of the window which gave a better view of the front door. Two uniformed officers stood on the step.

It had happened before. My mother had been caught speeding by a neighbourhood team with a speed scanner. The police weren’t allowed to give fines, but they did call around to advise her to slow down.

It would be the same again. She’d be upset. Again.

Perhaps, if I went down, they’d be happy for me to pass on their message. Surely, they had more important things to do, so wouldn’t want to return.

Convinced I knew why they were there, I had no worry about opening the door. ‘Hi,’ I said, smiling at the two grim-faced officers.

Although I was sixteen, I was small and slim and could have passed for younger. It was obviously what they thought too, as they hesitated before one said, quietly, ‘Hello, is your mother in?’

‘She’s out at the supermarket.’ I smiled and shook my head.

‘Is it okay if we come in?’

Surprised, I laughed uncertainly. ‘Is that really necessary? She might be a while and I have schoolwork to get done.’

‘Can I ask how old you are, miss?’

I was tempted to be smart, to say they could ask but I wasn’t obliged to answer, but there was something in their grim-set features that stopped the words. ‘I’m sixteen.’

The officers looked at each other, the older nodding and repeating his question. ‘Is it okay if we come in?’

Thanks to my mother, I’d watched more than my fair share of detective programmes on TV. ‘Mum, is she okay?’ She was a crazy driver, easily distracted. I imagined her car a mangled mess, her body twisted. ‘Mum!’

My cry hadn’t died when I saw her car pull into the driveway and I slumped against the wall in relief. She climbed out, hauled a carrier bag from the passenger seat, and stood with it hanging heavily from one hand as she glanced at the police car. Then she walked towards the door where the two officers stood, their expressions set into lines of uncomfortable determination.

The awful truth seemed to hit us at the same time. Mother dropped the bag of groceries as she raced forward shouting ‘Mark’, at the same time as I uttered a disbelieving, ‘Daddy?’ Mother grabbed the first officer, her hands pulling and clawing at his uniform until he grasped both of her hands in his and held them still. I stumbled away from them, back into the house, my mouth open in shock.

Stunned disbelief rendered me silent but Mother screeched… an ear-splitting litany of keening words, the pitch growing higher and higher. One of the officers tried to persuade her to move into the house and, when persuasion failed, resorted to lifting her bodily and carrying her through. He put her down beside the sofa. She stood rigidly, refusing to sit as she continued her keening, eyes wide, the fingers of one hand entwined in the other.

Then she stopped, her sudden silence almost as overwhelming as her keening. She flopped onto the sofa behind, and stared up at the officer who had carried her in. ‘Tell me.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘Your husband was found earlier today. In his car. A member of the public noticed he hadn’t moved for several hours. When they failed to get his attention by knocking on the car window, they called emergency services. The paramedics who attended reported there was no sign of life and Mr McColl’s body was cold. They estimate he died sometime late last night. There’ll be a post-mortem, but their professional opinion was that he’d had either a massive heart attack or a stroke.’