Seven Days(48)

‘You’re not in trouble. Mummy needs to know. That’s all.’

He stiffened. He turned his head so his face was totally hidden.

‘Max, please. Tell me if you drank it.’

Did the fact he wasn’t answering mean he had? Was he feeling guilty and didn’t want to admit it? Shit, shit, shit. What had she done? Her son was in the safest place possible – she would have preferred him to be exposed to all the dangers of the outside world, of course she would, but the fact was the room was safe – and still she had been so fucking negligent that he had been hurt by the one danger there was.

She prised him away from her and looked at him. He turned away again.

‘Max. Look at me. I need to know if you drank anything. That stuff is bad for you.’

He blinked, tears in his eyes.

‘No, Mummy,’ he said. ‘I didn’t.’

Of course, if he had done it, he would say that because he didn’t want to get into trouble. On top of leaving the bleach cap off, she had created a stressful situation which meant she couldn’t rely on what Max told her.

She took a deep breath.

‘Are you sure? It’s OK if you did. I’m not upset. I just need to know.’

‘I didn’t, Mummy.’

She stared at him. He looked serious. Honest. And he wasn’t showing any signs of having drunk bleach. Even though it was early, she thought that some of the symptoms might start quickly – stomach pains, for example.

She smelled his breath. It was sweet, exactly like she expected. She opened the bleach and smelled it. It was harsh and unpleasant, nothing like his breath.

Still, she had to assume he had drunk it. She picked up the bottle and read the label.

There was a warning symbol. A skull. She felt faint.

DANGER! POISON! CORROSIVE!

She read the label. There were instructions about what to do if it got in your eyes or on your skin. And what to do if your toddler drank it.

If swallowed, seek medical help immediately. Present this label.

That was it. No suggestions of what to do.

Only the instruction: seek medical help.

Which was impossible for her. She looked at Max. He seemed OK.

But all she could do – as always – was wait.





2


An hour later Max was asleep. He was lying on her, his chest moving up and down. He seemed normal, but she didn’t know how long bleach took to have an effect.

She thought it would be pretty quick, though. Quicker than this.

She slid Max on to her bed and picked up the bleach. She read the label, then took off the cap and smelled it again. It really was vile stuff. Enough of it would kill you, or do you serious harm.

She paused. If Max had drunk it, she would drink it too. She wouldn’t want to live with the guilt of having done that to him.

Maybe after Saturday she wouldn’t want to live at all. The bleach might come in handy then. It would be a way for her to kill herself if the man took Max. She no longer doubted that was what she would do.

The problem was, the man wouldn’t leave it with her and she had nothing to store it in. Even if she did have a storage container the man would see it and wonder what it was.

There was a faint rustle behind her. She turned round. Max’s ball of tinfoil had fallen off the bed, rolling out of his hand as he slept.

She could put some bleach in that. Fold the tinfoil into a bowl then pinch the top shut. She considered hiding it between her mattress and the wall, but that wouldn’t work. It would be too soft. If she rolled on it in the night it would disintegrate. She needed somewhere solid.

She looked around the room. At the toilet and the bucket. At the water jug. At the plastic basin. At the pile of Duplo Lego bricks. At the walk-in barrel bath and the pipe that drained out of the bottom and ran out of the room.

The pipe that was lower than the floor of the bath.

There was a hollow space between the base of the bath and the carpet where the drain and the pipes went. If she could prise up the base of the bath, she could store the bleach in there. It would break the seal which would mean the bath would leak and the man would know, but that didn’t matter. Bath day wasn’t until next Tuesday, by which time she wouldn’t care.

Either she’d have found a way out, or Max would be gone and she’d have drunk the bleach …

She walked over to the bath and looked down. The base was lined with plastic. At the sides was a line of white rubber. It was caulk – she’d helped her dad install their bath and recognized it from that. It was easy to apply and easy to remove.

She picked at it until she had a piece she could pull on. It came away quickly, and, when it was all up, she banged on the base. It came loose and she lifted it up. She looked at the pipes beneath.

Plastic. Not much use as a weapon.

But still, she smiled. Something, finally, had gone right.

She unwrapped the tinfoil, took the cap off the bleach and began to pour.





3


She took her pencil and the calendar. It was no longer necessary to mark the days, the calendar was all she could think of, but she did it anyway. It was a ritual, and rituals have power.

S

Su

M

Tu

W

Th

F





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