I collected Connie from Ashworth House mid-morning on the Saturday and we drove to Stratford-upon-Avon; she couldn’t remember ever visiting there before. We had lunch at a country pub by the river, on the outskirts of the town, then spent the afternoon wandering around the Bard’s home town – which, of course, had to include a visit to his house at the top of the town’s main street. From there we took in an excursion to Anne Hathaway’s cottage, followed by a tour of the Shakespeare Theatre and an early evening performance of As You Like It. Not really my scene, but Connie seemed to enjoy it.
It was something unbelievable to be able to spend a day with Connie without a single mention of monsters and paedophiles, and all the other nightmarish incidents associated with them. For once, I allowed Connie to be a normal teenage girl, whilst I did my best to behave like a big sister. We talked about all the things that we girls like to talk about when we’re together: clothes and men, and sex, then men and clothes, and sex. It didn’t take long before we were both giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. It was a perfectly ordinary day; the weather was a little overcast, but that didn’t bother us in the slightest.
On the way home we stopped for a late supper at an Italian restaurant I knew on the outskirts of the city. After pasta and a glass of wine Connie was beginning to nod off; in fact, she was dozing in the car by the time we got back to the flat. It was a shame to wake her, but she didn’t seem to mind. A cup of my favourite hot chocolate, then we both had an early night. My dingy flat was nowhere up to the standard of Jim’s; his was more like an apartment. And it only had the one bedroom– although there was a small room off the lounge, that I believed used to be some kind of storeroom – and as I didn’t have the heart to place her in there (or the courage, come to it), I let her have the main bedroom, so she was able to crash out in relative comfort. I squeezed myself on to the tiny camp bed in the storeroom.
The day had given me a feeling of immense satisfaction, especially spending time with my ward – as I had come to think of her – away from a hospital environment.
The next morning, after a late breakfast, Connie said, when I asked her, that she would like to visit the countryside. So we headed out towards Worcestershire and the Malvern Hills, stopping for a coffee at Bewdley, a small, touristy village on the edge of the river Severn, then on through Stourport and Droitwich, finally arriving – at lunchtime – at Malvern itself. It was truly a beautiful part of the country, with the Malvern Hills rising steeply, virtually from the town centre: a perfect setting for a peaceful day out, and a good spot for a pub lunch. It wasn’t a day for talking much; it was one of those tranquil occasions that lent itself to a golden type of silence. It had been a wonderful couple of days, and I was convinced Connie would feel the benefit of relative normality.
It was on the way home that she experienced a kind of seizure. Her head suddenly fell back in the car seat, and her eyes began to roll over as I saw her pupils dilate. She was breathing, heavily and unnaturally. The next thing, she started to tremble, more or less the same as I remembered from that time in the woods. Frightened, I pulled the car from the road and parked in a lay-by.
I found I too was shaking by now with the shock of the sudden transformation. I felt helpless, uncertain what, if anything, I should do. I was so scared for her I did the only thing I could think of; I switched on my mobile and called for an ambulance. It could be anything, I thought; an epileptic fit, or possibly some kind of brain seizure.
It seemed to take an eternity for the ambulance to arrive. All I could do was to leave the car door open, wet my handkerchief from the bottle of water I kept in the car, and douse her forehead.
Coincidentally, we were quite close to Solihull, having tracked our way back via Warwick so I could show Connie my old university. It was to that hospital the ambulance took Connie whilst I followed fearfully in the car. On the way I used my mobile again and tried to contact Paul Simmons, without success. All I got was his answer phone, so I left a message telling him what had happened and where we would be.
We were in the hospital’s A&E department before Connie started to come round. She was continually vomiting and terribly confused, and she still couldn’t stop shaking. The doctor ushered me out of the resuscitation room, and a sympathetic, middle-aged nurse led me to the relatives’ waiting room. She literally oozed compassion, so much so that I felt my hackles go up.
She was about to say something when I saw my hand involuntarily rise in protest. “Please,” I heard myself saying, “don’t tell me she’s in good hands. I couldn’t stand it.”
She smiled reactively. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “Anyway, we’ve been reprogrammed not to say that any more! What I was actually going to ask is if you might know how to contact her parents.”
“No. Her mother’s dead, and we’ve no idea where her father is. I’m the nearest she has to a relative. It’s probably a silly question, nurse, but does the doctor have any idea what’s wrong?”
“It’s not a silly question, and I wish I could give you an answer, but I’m afraid I can’t. Would you like me to stay with you? I can if you like. Or perhaps a cup of tea? That might help.”
“Thank you, nurse; you’re very kind, but I’ll be alright, really.”
“I’ll be getting back, then. As soon as we have any news I’ll let you know.” She touched my arm sympathetically. “I know it sounds glib, but – please – try not to worry.”
She was about to leave when my mobile went off at that moment; it was Paul. The nurse gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry, but can you turn that off? We don’t allow them in the hospital.”
I went to the entrance to the A&E and rang Paul back.
“Are you at the hospital?” he asked
“Yes. Solihull General. Where are you?”
“I’m on my way. Should be with you in about ten minutes. What happened, Angie?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, choking back the tears. “We were in the car, on our way home. One minute she was fine, the next it was as if she was having some kind of seizure.”
“Take it easy, Angie. Stay calm. Have they told you anything yet?”
“No. They don’t seem to know what it is. I’m worried sick, Paul. She looks terrible. Please – hurry, won’t you?”
“Is she conscious?”
“Yes, but barely. I think she fainted in the car. She’s come round now but she still isn’t compos mentis.”
“I’ll be there shortly. Hang on, Angie; she’ll be all right, I’m sure. I can’t think it’s anything too serious.”
He broke the connection and left me with my worries about Connie. For some inexplicable reason the circle of my mind always seemed to return to that ghoulish scene in the woods when the children’s bodies were exposed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this latest episode had its origins in that experience. But, when it came to understanding the workings of Connie’s mind, I had given up some years ago. She was definitely an enigma, and, as I once commented to Paul, “It’s as if at times she functions in an altogether different dimension from normal people.” But if I fail to totally understand her that didn’t mean it would lessen my support for her. She needed me, and my promise that I would always be there for her would remain unceasingly steadfast.
I wandered back into the hospital and bumped into the nurse from resuscitation; she was looking for me.
“How is she?” I asked, trying to keep the concern out of my voice.
“Well, she’s come round, and she is feeling much better. But we’re still not sure what the problem is, so the doctor wants to keep her in overnight and do a scan in the morning.”
“A scan? What kind of scan?”
“An MRI scan – on her brain. It’s just a precaution, but we need to be certain there’s nothing untoward going on.”
“Does the doctor have an opinion as to what it might be?”
The nurse shrugged, one of those irritating non-committal gestures that gives nothing away. “I don’t think he’s really qualified to diagnose at this level; we’ll have to wait for the consultant in the morning. But I shouldn’t worry; this type of seizure’s not uncommon in teenagers, and they’re usually only temporary. Would you like to see her before she goes up to the ward?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Connie was lying back in the bed when I went into the cubicle. The colour had returned to her cheeks, and her eyes were back to normal. But she looked absolutely exhausted, as if she had just run the marathon. She smiled, tentatively, when she saw me, and held out a hand.
“What would I do without you, Angie? I’m pretty hopeless, aren’t I?”
“Well, you do have this natural talent for frightening me,” I said, returning the smile. “How are you feeling, Connie?”
“Wiped out,” she said.
“Any idea what happened back there?”
She nodded. “Can I tell you about it later? Now isn’t a good time. I’m really whacked, Angie.”
“Sure.” I leant over and eased her back in the bed. “You just rest. They’re going to keep you in overnight and Dr Simmons is on his way here. I hope you don’t mind but I called him.”
She groaned. “Oh, Christ! He’ll think I’ve had a relapse. There’s no way I can be straight with him; he’ll never understand.”
I took hold of her hand in mine and squeezed it gently. “You’d be surprised at just how understanding your doctor’s become lately. I think we’re converting him!”
Connie sighed and closed her eyes. A few moments later she had drifted off, so I left her and went to see if Paul had arrived. He was talking to the hospital doctor in the lobby, and waved when he saw me.
“It doesn’t sound too serious,” he assured me, after finishing his discussion. “The young doctor seems to think it’s nothing more than a slight adolescent seizure, not…”
“...Uncommon with teenagers,” I interrupted. “Yeah, I was told. But what do you think, Paul? It was pretty bloody scary, I don’t mind telling you.”
“He’s probably right. These episodes are invariably less serious than they appear at the time. But I think the MRI scan’s a good idea, as a precaution. It’s a good job they have a scanner here, otherwise it would have meant moving her to Birmingham in the morning. Anyway, I’m sure Connie’ll be feeling much better by then. Are you going to stay with her for a while?”
“Right now she’s sleeping. Whatever it was it took a hell of a lot out of her. I’ll stay till she goes up to the ward and then come back in the morning. And, Paul, thanks for coming so promptly. I’m sorry if I alarmed you.”
“I’m just glad she wasn’t on her own when it happened. As you said, Angie, these things can be pretty frightening.” He turned to leave, then hesitated. “Will you give me a ring in the morning? Let me know how she is, and if they’re discharging her.”
“Of course. And I should know then if I can keep our computer date!”
* * * * * * * * * *
A little later, I went up to the ward where Connie had been transferred. She barely woke when they had to move her, and as soon as she was settled into a different bed she crashed out again. I realised how weary I was myself then, so I left the hospital intent on an early night. One way or another, it had been a hell of a day.