Nicole
Nicole
‘You’ve got five minutes.’
The officer opens the door to the interview room and Nicole steps inside.
Jack looks up from where he is sitting between Andrew and a man Nicole assumes is Jack’s solicitor, in an otherwise empty room, his face pale, dark rings hammocking his eyes.
‘Mum...’ He stands up, falls into her arms.
Nicole holds him, Jack’s breath hot against her neck. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.’ The words strain at her throat, and she does not know if she can do this, does not know how, in a few minutes’ time, she will leave him. It seems impossible that she will say goodbye to him not knowing when she will see him again.
‘What’s going to happen to me?’
Panic laces Jack’s words, and it slips into Nicole’s bloodstream, infects her like a virus for which she knows there is no cure.
She hunts for phrases to reassure him, understands how woefully inadequate they will be. She does not possess the power to perform the magic trick she needs to enact: cannot turn back time, cannot undo what has been done. She cannot halt the future that is rushing to meet them.
Stepping back, she holds his face in her hands, studies his tear-stained cheeks. She does not know how her heart is still beating when she is sure it is broken.
‘We’re going to get you through this. I promise, we’ll get through it.’
He nods but she can see he doesn’t believe her. His face is awash with confusion, and she can sense his body is flooded with adrenaline and uncertainty for what the next few hours hold.
Pulling Jack back into her arms, the muscles in her throat constrict. There is no knowing when she will be able to do this again. If a judge on Monday decides not to grant Jack bail, if she herself is remanded in custody, she does not know when she might see him again. And the thought of it – the thought of her little boy in a juvenile detention centre, surrounded by strangers, surrounded by people who may choose to do him harm – is too unwieldy, and she has to expel it from her mind.
Holding on to Jack, she remembers the day he was born, two weeks early, such a tiny scrap of a thing. How she had cradled him in her arms – so small, so vulnerable – and had understood immediately, viscerally, that she would do anything to look after him. How she had known, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would die for him, if need be. That she would die for both her boys if, one day, it was required of her.
And yet, now here she is, powerless to stop whatever fate awaits him. Her sense of impotence is profound, and she does not know how she will survive the coming hours, days, weeks.
Behind her, a voice calls her name.
Nicole clings on to Jack, will not let him go, will not let them part her from her son. He is only fifteen. He is just a child. She cannot allow them to take him where he might be going.
The officer repeats her name, and she feels a hand on her shoulder, feels herself being prised away, but Jack is clasping hold of her, his arms around her shoulders, and she whispers in his ear, tells him she loves him, she will never stop loving him. He is crying – huge, uncontainable sobs – and he is telling her he’s scared, he doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him, he doesn’t want to be sent to prison. She kisses his cheeks, tears wet against her skin. And then the officer tells her she needs to come now, her time is up, but it seems impossible that anyone is going to make her leave Jack, that anybody has the power to force her to leave her son when every maternal fibre in her body is telling her she must stay, she must be with him, she must look after him.
But then the officer’s hand grips more firmly on her arm, leading her away, and it is as though she can feel an invisible cord between her and Jack lengthen and stretch, pull taut on her heart. She looks at Jack’s face, feels his desperation, tells him she is sorry, she is so sorry that she could not do more to protect him, tells him again that she loves him. She watches as Andrew gets out of his chair, puts his arm around Jack’s shoulders, watches the two of them stand in the midst of that oppressive room as she is led out of the door, away from her son, with no knowing when or where she might see him again.