On the bus back to hospital, I sit on shaking hands. It lurches through town, then finally up, up the hill towards the hospital.
As soon as the bus doors open, I’m running – across tarmac, past flowerbeds and patients having sneaky cigarettes, into the hospital, upstairs and along lemon-coloured corridors.
As I reach Tom’s ward, I’m lucky. A nurse is coming through the double doors. She holds one open for me. ‘Hi Lizzie.’
I smile back – my timid smile that tells people I’m small. Vulnerable. That I mean no harm. And then I pass through the door, into the bright lights of Tom’s ward.
No one suspects a stressed-looking woman with a shy smile.
Mothers are good. Angelic. Beyond fault.
I learned that a long time ago.
But we’re nothing without our children.
I reach Tom’s bed and sneak behind the curtain. ‘Come on, Tommo,’ I whisper. ‘Let’s get you dressed. We’re all packed. We’re going on the train. Ready steady go, okay?’
Tom pulls himself up. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to see Daddy.’
‘You can’t see your father, Tom.’ My voice could strip paint. Through the curtain, I hear the rustle of bedclothes and sense bodies and heads turning in our direction. ‘You’re mine, not his.’ I take some deep breaths, forcing myself to stay calm. ‘You can’t see your father, Tom. He hurt you.’
Outside the curtain, I hear footsteps.
‘This will be the doctor.’ My heartbeat quickens, and I open the bedside drawer and pass Tom his clothes. ‘Get dressed. I’ve asked them to discharge you tonight.’
‘Lizzie?’ a voice calls through the curtain. It’s Clara, the nurse I like.
Oh God. We need to get out of here.
‘Just a minute.’ I start to help Tom get dressed.
But the curtain pulls back anyway.
Clara looks flustered. ‘Lizzie, the police just arrived. They want to speak to you.’
‘What?’ A chill runs through me.
‘I’ll tell them you’re here.’
‘Could you just give me a few minutes?’
Clara hesitates. ‘No. No, Lizzie, I can’t do that.’ With a whisk of the curtain, she’s gone, hurrying across the ward.
Too many coincidences.
‘Quickly, Tom.’ I push shoes onto his feet.
‘What about the doctor?’
‘We’ll have to see another doctor.’ I lift Tom into my arms, folding his skinny body over my shoulder.
This ward has a fire escape – it’s one of the first things I noticed.
Escape is always on my mind.
Briskly and unapologetically, I carry Tom straight across the ward, past the nurse’s station and through the double doors to the fire escape. I don’t know if the nurses see me walk past. I hope not, but I don’t turn to look.
As I push the silver door-bar with my hip, I brace for the peep, peep of the door alarm.
I hold my breath, but to my relief hear nothing.
Typical NHS cuts – the door alarm doesn’t work.
Tom wriggles around in my arms, clinging to my neck, his body jogging up and down as I run down the stairs.