Chapter 31
The first half of the day passes by as normally as any day ever does for Phoebe: checking in with existing patients, getting to know new ones and, leant against her motorbike, typing up her notes between appointments. By mid-afternoon, she is tired, but satisfyingly so. She’s making good progress on her appointment list and is looking forward to her meeting with Mel and to the thought of a weekend stretching ahead of her, even if she will have to lay low and avoid Luca after what happened.
But as she is about to head to the next appointment in her calendar, her phone rings – and as soon as she answers, she knows that something is very wrong.
‘Ben? What is it?’
But she can’t hear his words between his rapid, rasping breaths.
‘Take a deep breath. It’s OK.’ She can’t make out any words, just broken, painful sobs.
She isn’t due to see him today. He’d been doing so much better. Yes, when she visited yesterday, he had seemed ever so slightly withdrawn compared to the exuberant energy of their previous meeting. But, overall, he seemed like a different person to the young man she had first met several months ago.
‘Where are you?’ she asks, her voice firm now.
Ben just about manages to get out the fact that he is at home. Phoebe glances at her watch. She can be there in fifteen minutes. Quicker than an ambulance.
‘Are you hurt? Do you need to get to hospital?’
‘No,’ he manages. ‘No, I’m OK. But can you come over? Please.’
‘Of course,’ she replies quickly. She’ll send a message to Mel and get her to inform her later patients that things might need to be rearranged. But she’ll get there. ‘I’ll be with you very soon, OK, Ben? I’ll be there really soon.’
Her hands shake as she straddles her motorbike and revs the engine. It’s times like these that she feels especially grateful for her bike. I’ll be there soon, she tells herself as she zips down the country lanes, just like she told Ben. I’ll be there soon.
When she arrives, she runs up to the front door of the little council house and knocks firmly on the door. The curtains are drawn.
‘Ben? Ben?’ she calls, through the letter box. ‘Are you there?’
There’s a painfully long pause, in which Phoebe can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her palms growing sweaty. She can’t help but remember the times over the years when she has turned up to a home like this and knocked and knocked on the door but never received an answer.
Memories of her appointments with Ben flash through her mind. The two of them sitting in front of the telly, Ben telling Phoebe the names of all the Arsenal players and Phoebe trying her best to store them all in her mind so she could chat with him about them another time. How, when she brought him a pretzel that time when they’d only recently met, he insisted on sharing it with her. The happy grin on his face when he talked to her about his first session with the football club he’d joined and, later, when he’d told her about the interviews he had lined up.
He might still have his struggles, but his life was just starting to turn around.
She bangs on the door again.
She is just about to dial 999 when the door creaks open and she lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of Ben, gaunt and red-eyed but there.
‘Oh, thank fucking God!’ she says. She normally tries to monitor her language at work, but she can’t help it.
Ben doesn’t seem to notice. His expression is blank, as though barely registering that she’s there.
‘Can I come in?’
He doesn’t say anything, but he opens the door a little wider before disappearing down the corridor. Phoebe closes the door and follows him. As she’s heading to the living room, her phone buzzes in her pocket. There’s a message from Mel saying that she’s got it covered for the afternoon and to keep her updated about Ben. But there are two missed calls from her mum too. She’ll call her back later.
In the living room, Ben is slumped on the sofa, his shoulders bowed. His eyes are ringed with grey and she spots a flash of blood on his bottom lip. He always bites his lip when he’s anxious; she noticed it the first time they met.
‘I’m here now, Ben. Do you think you might be able to tell me what’s going on?’
In the silence, Phoebe feels her phone ring in her pocket again. She tries her best to ignore it, focusing her attention on Ben.
‘Has something happened?’
Her phone rings again.
Ben says nothing, sinking further down into the sofa cushions.
‘How about a cup of tea first?’ Phoebe asks. Ben nods very slightly. Phoebe leaps up, placing a hand gently on his arm as she passes. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, OK?’
In the tiny kitchen, she takes in the mess of unwashed dishes, then flicks on the kettle and quickly checks her phone. Three more missed calls from her mum. Glancing quickly through the hallway to check Ben is OK, she dials her mum’s number.
‘Mum, is everything OK? I’m at work and can’t really talk right now …’
But then she realises that her mum is crying, sobs reaching her down the line. Her hands begin to shake as she grips the phone.
‘Mum, what is it?’
Her mum goes as if to speak, but the only sound that comes out is a squeak and another sob. Phoebe can hear vague noises in the background but can’t decipher what they are.
‘Is it Dad? Is he OK?’
As the words leave her mouth, it strikes her that, even after all these years, she’s lived her whole life terrified of receiving this call. But, to her relief, she suddenly makes out his muffled voice in the background.
‘No, Dad’s fine,’ her mum replies. ‘It’s Mum. Your nan.’
The brief moment of relief is replaced by panic. ‘What’s happened?’
‘She’s had another fall.’
‘Shit. Is she OK?’
‘She slipped in the bathroom. She’d been in there a long time and I was starting to worry so knocked, but there was no reply. I got your dad to help me with the door and when we went in, there she was, lying on the ground in her dressing gown. She was unconscious.’ Her mum’s voice breaks again, another wave of sobs taking over.
‘Where are you now?’
‘We’re at the hospital. They’ve taken her away for tests and we haven’t been able to visit yet.’
‘Is she going to be OK?’
‘I don’t know!’ Her mum’s voice breaks off again. ‘I don’t know …’
Phoebe blinks back tears, thinking of all the times this week that she’s said she’d speak to her nan. But she hasn’t. Not once. And the last time she saw her in person was months ago. She kept telling herself that she was too busy, that she didn’t have time, that she’d get down to Cornwall soon. But what if she’s missed her chance?
The sound of the kettle boiling pulls her back into the room. She can’t fall apart, not here. Not when she has someone else’s crisis to deal with.
‘Mum, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can, though, OK? And call me again if there are any updates.’
There’s a slight pause on the other end of the line and then her mother takes a faltering breath. ‘OK.’
‘I love you, Mum.’
She tries hard not to spill the tea as she carries two mugs through to the living room with shaking hands. Ben is still slumped on the sofa. Phoebe’s mind races, picturing her parents finding her grandmother sprawled unconscious on the bathroom floor. But the expression on Ben’s face means she has to push those thoughts away.
With all her strength, she tries to keep her voice level and steady as she says, ‘I’m here now, Ben. Do you think you might be able to tell me what’s going on?’
His dark eyes flick up towards hers and he sniffs loudly.
‘They closed it. It’s over.’
‘They closed what?’ Phoebe watches him closely. He’s never exhibited any signs of psychosis before, but it’s something she’s always alert to. The word ‘they’ is an alarm bell. They’re watching me. They put something in my food. They told me to do it.
‘I heard a rumour yesterday. Something about cuts. I didn’t want to believe it. But today they told us it’s definite. It’s being scrapped for good.’
‘What’s being scrapped?’
Ben looks up again, his eyes meeting hers. He looks so lost and suddenly much younger than nineteen.
‘The football club. Today was the last session.’
To most people, the closure of a local football group might seem like a small thing. A shame, but not the end of the world. But Phoebe knows that this group has become Ben’s world. She’s seen the difference meeting up with other young people with mental health struggles has made to his confidence and mood. Before he started going to the sessions, he was barely leaving his flat. And now he has job interviews lined up. But with that support network so suddenly ripped from his life, his future suddenly seems precarious.
She’s hit by an intense feeling of failure. It’s her job to look after him. The closure of the football club might not be her fault, but it still feels as though she’s let him down. Just like she’s failed her nan by not being in touch. She recalls her mum’s faltering voice on the phone just now and thinks she has probably let her down too.
‘I’m so sorry. That must be so tough for you. I know how much your football sessions mean to you.’
Ben stares down at his mug of tea. She spots the red patches around the sides of his fingers where he’s been chewing the skin there.
‘I’m going to try to sort this for you. There must be something I can do.’
He looks up then, a glimmer of hope appearing in his eyes, which immediately makes her regret her words. She shouldn’t make promises she can’t keep. But what else is she supposed to do? She knows all too well what happened the last time he lost hope, is reminded of it every time her gaze falls on the scar on his left wrist.
‘Really?’ he says in a tentative voice. ‘Please. I don’t want to go back to how it was before.’
His words make her feel as though he is reaching out and clinging on to her to stay afloat. The trouble is, she suddenly isn’t sure if she’s strong enough to keep them both above water.