11. Scarlett
“ What do you mean he’s been discharged?”
Pat and I exchanged confused looks as the nurse explained Jamie was no longer on the ward.
“He took an overdose, tried to kill himself, and you’ve just let him go,”
Pat rubbed her fingertips over her temples.
The emotion evident in her voice as she carried on.
“No one thought to inform me? He’s obviously not capable of making decisions about his health or he wouldn’t have ended up here, would he.”
The nurse smiled apologetically, her gaze switching between me and Jamie’s mum.
“He’s an adult Mrs Kasper, we cannot disclose any information without his permission.
I understand why you’re concerned but the doctor wouldn’t have discharged him if he thought he wasn’t ready.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see Pat’s fists clench and unclench as she tried to work through her emotions.
She blinked rapidly, I guess she was trying to hold back the tears I could see welling in her eyes.
“If anything happens to him, I will hold you all personally responsible,”
Pat breathed out sharply before she turned to grasp my hand.
“Come on, love.
Let’s go find him.”
With a swift nod of apology in the poor nurse’s direction, I followed Pat back down the corridor towards the exit.
Not a word was spoken between us as we moved.
The silence only broken when we were safely ensconced in Pat’s car.
“Why is he doing this to me…us? Why would he not let us know he was leaving the hospital? I only want what’s best for him.
Why is he torturing me, Scarlett?”
The floodgates open, and all the emotion she’s been holding back finally unleashes, in great torrents that flow down her ruddy cheeks.
Leaning across the centre console of the car, I wrap my arms around her weary form.
As I squeeze tightly, I make gently shushing noises in an aim to soothe her.
Pat is a broken woman; it didn’t take a genius to see that.
Only, I’m not sure I’m the one to fix her.
I’m barely managing to hold myself together since Tom died and Jamie’s recent attempt at joining him.
As her tears ebb, she pulls a tissue from her pocket to dry her eyes and cheeks.
“I want my boy back; I want to see him smile and hear that loud, raucous laugh of his. Is that too much to ask?”
“He’s not trying to hurt you or anyone else, he’s just not dealing with Tom’s death.
He has to work his way through it, just like the rest of us,”
my hand rubs up and down Pat’s shoulder as I ramble.
“You know he’s stubborn.
He’s never let anyone tell him what to do, I don’t think he’s about to start now.
Grief is like that.
God knows, my mum and dad have tried to drill that into me recently.”
As I spoke, Pat seemed to calm somewhat, her breathing evening out to a more normal rate and I released my grip on her ever so slightly.
We were both holding on too tight, thoughts of losing anyone else right now felt nothing short of catastrophic.
I tried to tap into advice Tom would bestow on us in this situation; what he’d say to Jamie.
With every day that passed, the connection I’d shared with him, the ability to know each other’s thoughts, slowly diminished.
Fear clutched at my throat as the realisation that I’d never get that back hit hard.
I lay my head on Pat’s shoulder and sighed deeply, wishing I could turn back the clock.
Wishing that we could just go back to the beginning of the year and do it all again.
Well, everything except Tom dying.
The losing my soulmate part; we could just erase that bit. “Why don’t we go to the flat? See if he’ll let us in, at least.”
Pat squeezed my hand firmly before she reached forwards to turn the key in the ignition, firing up the engine.
“I’m not sure he’ll answer the door but it’s the only plan we’ve got at the minute,”
We both reached for our seatbelts and buckled up before Pat pulled the car out of the carpark, heading in the direction of Jamie’s flat.
I rested my head against the window as Pat drove, watching life whizz past.
‘You’re crowding him, he doesn’t need you to fix him, he needs to learn how to fix himself.’ Tom’s voice echoed around my head, clear as day.
He might as well have been sitting in the back seat of Pat’s ancient Toyota.
‘Give him some space, Scar.’ My head spun around to check the rear of the car, as if the last few months had been a really crappy dream, hoping to see my brother leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as he berated me with his words of wisdom.
‘Phone him, tell him you understand.’
“I think we should go home instead,”
the wobble in my voice betrayed my lack of conviction in the statement I’d just made.
“You’re right, he won’t answer the door.
I’m pretty sure he won’t even answer the phone.
Maybe we could phone and leave a message, he can listen to it and then let us know what he needs from us.
What do you think?”
A look of horror washed across Pat’s face.
She thought I’d lost my ever-loving mind.
To be honest, I’d be inclined to agree with that thought, but Tom’s words echoed around my brain.
“But what if he tries again? What if he’s already…”
“Don’t.
Let’s try not to go there, eh?”
delving deep inside myself, I found the grit I knew was still hiding in there somewhere.
“We have to believe he isn’t serious about ending his life.
I think it was a cry for help and now we need to run with that.”
My mind wandered back to seeing the noose hanging from the rafters in his bedroom, thank God Pat hadn’t witnessed that.
Goosebumps spread all over my body as doubt niggled over Tom’s words of advice.
“Trust me, my need to babysit him is just as strong as yours, but I’m not sure that’s what he needs.
I think he needs to know we understand and that we can be there when he’s ready.”
I held my breath, waiting for Pat to argue with me, when she didn’t, I continued.
“If he’d been serious about it, he wouldn’t have sent me a text.
The first thing we’d have known about it would’ve been when the police knocked on your door to tell us he’d…gone,”
it was my turn to gulp down the emotion.
The large lump in my throat made it difficult to continue.
“Why don’t we go back to yours and phone him from there? If he answers, then great.
If he doesn’t, well let’s cross that bridge when we have to, yeah?”
My hand involuntarily reached out to squeeze Pat’s hand that rested on the gear stick as we waited for the traffic lights to turn green.
“I don’t like it but okay,”
she took a brief second to afford me a brief smile, albeit a forced one.
“Scarlett, if he doesn’t answer I am going over there and I will camp outside that door until he opens it.”
With steely determination, Pat flicked the indicator on and turned left down the road that would take us home.
There was nothing I could do now except pray he answered his damn phone.