The First Mistake(15)
7
Sophia is already home when we get back, and once I’ve set Olivia up with her homework, I climb the stairs to my elder daughter’s room. I sit on her bed and watch as she brushes her long dark hair through. God, she looks like Tom. Every now and then, I catch her at a certain angle, or see her pulling the very same expression as him. She doesn’t know she’s doing it of course, and if I asked her to do it again she wouldn’t be able to, but just in those fleeting moments, I can see him so clearly. And I don’t want to lose him. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut to try and hold on to him.
It’s what I used to do in the months after Tom had gone; shamefully willing Sophia to metamorphize into him. My mind had been tricked into thinking that if I could just get Tom back, I’d happily sacrifice everyone and everything else. It was an insane thought, but that’s what happens when you are momentarily struck with insanity. How else could you explain that I honestly believed that losing my daughter would somehow be easier to deal with than losing my husband? Maybe God heard me and decided to put my deluded theory to the test, because a little while later I did lose her.
Somewhere between a seemingly normal Wednesday afternoon and a dreary Thursday morning, the world that I’d kept tentatively spinning on one finger came crashing down. Looking back, the warning signs were all there; I’d not been able to sleep, preferring to immerse myself in the never-ending hell of being awake. I was unable to do even the most mundane task – I once confused a banana for a cucumber when I made tuna sandwiches for Sophia’s packed lunch. My mother has never forgiven herself for not seeing what was hiding in plain sight, but how could she, when I couldn’t even see it myself?
The switch that short-circuited my system came in the form of a badly made cappuccino in a coffee shop. Not that there was anything necessarily wrong with it, it just had chocolate sprinkles on, which I thought I’d expressly said I didn’t want. An easy enough mistake to make you might think, but for me it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
As the unfortunate barista handed it to me, I felt something inside me go horribly wrong, as if the blood was rushing out of my body. All I wanted was a cappuccino with no chocolate sprinkles, but even that seemed an insurmountable task. Was I not worthy of even a coffee? Did the powers-that-be hate me so much that I couldn’t even get the drink I wanted?
I felt as if I was drowning, unable to keep my head above the water, whilst everyone around me was pretending not to see the overwhelming panic that had paralysed me. The walls caved in, and the floor rose to meet the ceiling, leaving me trapped in a windowless room with just my poisonous thoughts to taunt me. Why don’t you just die? I said to myself. What’s the point of living? Nobody would miss you. You’re not even capable of ordering a coffee . . .
After whatever was happening happened, I found myself sat under the counter, drenched in coffee, tightly hugging my knees to my chest to stop my body from shaking. I vaguely remember flashing blue lights, though whether it was the police or ambulance service I can’t recall. I clearly needed both.
Seeing Mum at the hospital, her face etched with pain, still didn’t convince me that I had a life worth living. ‘Don’t worry about Sophia,’ she said as she held my hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing it. ‘She’s home with me.’ I hadn’t even given her a second’s thought; my brain was empty, barren of emotions.
I stayed in the psychiatric unit for eight weeks and it was only on day twenty-one that I asked if Sophia could be brought in to see me. ‘Let’s see how you are tomorrow,’ said the doctor, smiling gently, which I translated into, Not until we’re absolutely sure you won’t scare her.
Three days later my good behaviour was rewarded with a visit. My nervous-looking mum held Sophia’s hand as she walked towards me, her face a complicated mixture of fear and adoration.
As soon as I smiled, she smiled, and she ran to me with her arms open wide. A flood of love rushed through me as I hugged her, my ravaged thoughts wondering how I could have risked losing her. Yet at the same time, I asked myself how I could possibly look after her ever again. I didn’t feel responsible enough to keep myself out of harm’s way, let alone her.
But each day I grew stronger, and when I eventually returned home, I started to think about how much Sophia needed me, rather than how much better off she’d be without me. I certainly knew I needed her, but I wasn’t brave enough to do it on my own, so Mum moved in with us – a constant yet necessary presence.
Under her watchful eye, I learnt how to be a mother all over again, which was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. Every step felt like a leap into the unknown, but slowly we made it through to the other side.
Looking at Sophia now, all these years later, I shudder to think how I almost lost her. ‘How did your final exam go?’ I ask tearfully.
She gives me the briefest of looks – just to double-check I’m okay – before shrugging her shoulders. She’s used to seeing me cry. ‘Okay I guess.’
‘Can you offer anything more?’ I ask. ‘Do you think you did all right? What questions came up?’
Her eyes are sad as she looks at me and I move closer to her, resting my hand on her knee.
‘What’s up?’ I ask. ‘You’re free now. No more exams for another year.’ I look at her excitedly. ‘That must feel great, eh? You’ve got your freedom back.’