The World Out There - 25. Twenty-Five

He’d been again sat in the Common Room that Saturday morning when his mother arrived unannounced. He hadn’t been expecting any visitors that day. Mark had told him he wouldn’t be visiting him for another two weeks.

He’d found himself a quiet corner of the Common Room to read his book. Mrs Williams had given him a copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe and she’d asked him to write a review of it. She’d also given him copies of book reviews, printed off the internet, so he knew what was required. The reviews seemed simple enough in format, but the problem he was having was that he just didn’t like the book. It was all so simple and simplistic. The good characters were really good, the bad characters were really bad, and he couldn’t identify with any of the characters in it. They lived lives so different and unrealistic to his had been, even before he came to Nurton Cross.

He’d found he liked fantasy books: he liked Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone that Mark had given him, and recently he’d read Alice in Wonderland, lent to him by Mrs Williams, finding it very weird, but also enjoyable. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe just wasn’t catching his interest the way the other books had, but he had to finish reading it - he had to write that review for Mrs Williams.

When Gary, the nurse, interrupted him, Liam was glad of a distraction as he was only reading his book and no longer enjoying doing so.

Gary had walked up to him and surprised him - Gary hadn’t been one of the nurses looking over the Common Room - and said, “Liam, you’ve got a visitor.”

“Oh, right,” he replied, closing his book and following Gary out of there.

Who was visiting him? Mark didn’t visit him early – well, he hadn’t the two other times he had done. As he followed behind Gary, being led around to the Visitors’ Room through all those locked doors, his mind kept turning over who could be visiting him.

When Gary led him into the Visitors’ Room, he saw his mother sitting on the far side of the room, staring ahead of herself with that impatient expression on her face. He hadn’t been expecting to see her for weeks yet - she had certainly given him the impression that she wouldn’t be a frequent visitor. He followed behind Gary as the nurse led him up to the table where his mother was sat.

“Bridget and Kirsty are staffing the Visitors’ Room today,” Gary said, nodding to the two nurses sat at the table just within the room’s double doors. “If you need anything, just tell them. I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks,” Liam said, as he sat on the other chair at that table.

“Nice to see you again, Mrs Andrews,” Gary said, with a smirk towards Liam, before he walked away.

“I’m Miss Duffield! You bastard!” his mother shouted after Gary.

“Keep the language down!” Bridget’s voice boomed out across the room.

Liam tried to push himself down into his chair, glancing down at the table and trying to hide his own embarrassment.

“God, they are still so rude here,” his mother hissed.

He glanced up at her and took a moment to look at her. Today she looked so different: she had certainly worked on her appearance. For a moment her right hand touched at her hair, patting down her hair at the side of her head, suddenly drawing attention to the new style that it was. It had been dyed a deep red and was swept back from her face, the sides brushed back as if blown there by a strong wind.

Her face was once again perfectly made-up. The blemishes and different tones of her skin had been smoothed out by an application of pale powder. The features of her face were flawlessly highlighted and outlined by her brightly coloured make-up, especially her lips, which were now painted a glossy red. This was the high level of make-up, though all immaculately applied, she wore when she was going out for the night. He remembered that so well.

She was dressed differently as well. She was wearing a black, three-quarter lengthen, tailored leather jacket. It was shinily new, the leather not even creased, and it sat an extra size large against her body. He didn’t recognise it. Under it she wore a tight, white blouse, with the top three buttons left undone, and her usual black skinny jeans.

She was leaning back against her chair, her left arm resting on the chair’s back, and her right leg crossed over her left leg. She looked like she was dressed up for an evening out enjoying herself, and it was only eleven o’clock in the morning. Had she dressed up like just to see him?

“You’re looking nice,” he said.

“It’s my new look, Terry said. I should treat myself. What’s the good of money if it doesn’t make you happy? So, I bought myself this new coat, and I’m so proud of it. I should have bought myself one of these years ago. I get so much more respect now when I’m wearing it. And I have my hair done each week now too,” she said.

“Whose Terry?” he asked her.

“He’s my new man. He is a real man with a heart of gold. I met him at the karaoke night at The Crown and Anchor and he has been a prince ever since then. He was the first person who helped me move and he actually drove me here in his car. He didn’t want to come in here because he doesn’t know you and his own brother is inside and it would bring back nasty memories. So he’s sitting out there in his car, playing some game on his phone. After we leave here, he’s going to take me shopping in Gillingham. He says it’s got wonderful shopping outlets there and I can really treat myself.”

He felt his body deflate a degree. He was just a stop-off on her shopping trip with her new boyfriend. She hadn’t even dressed up for him.

“You’ve moved?” he asked. He wanted the subject to change but there was so few of them left to him now.

“The council has finally come through for me and moved me to the Roman Road Estate. A nice two-bedroom flat on the second floor, and the lift always works.” He knew the Roman Road Estate. Kids from his old school had lived there and that estate was no better than the one he had lived on, and it didn’t have a square of shops at the centre of it. “It was that solicitor bloke of yours that came through for me. He wrote a letter to Council and they re-housed me. Of course, he tried to tell me what to do as well, but I got re-housed, and no one knows me there.”

“That’s nice,” he said.

“It bloody is,” she replied, her right index finger pointing at something in the air. “It’s about time something nice happened for me. I have suffered more than anyone else through all this shit. My life has been made a living hell, but does anyone else care about it? Do they, fuck? No one cares about the mother, no one.”

He pushed his back against his chair. Please do not let her start again, please, please, please?

“What’s your new flat like?” he asked.

“It’s not half-bad, though the lounge and kitchen is all open-plan. Not my idea. People in your lounge can smell whatever you are cooking in the kitchen, and that’s so lacking in class.” When did she start cooking? His mother’s idea of a home-cooked meal had been to reheat some ready meal from the freezer. “The place is all badly decorated, all white and grey everywhere. It’s crying out for some bright colours. I need to get it all decorated because all that grey and white is messing with my head. Terry has promised to help me, and he’s got real taste. He wears tailored jeans and ironed shirts. He doesn’t wear jogging bottoms with his arse hanging out of them.

“The estate isn’t bad too. There’s a load of darkies living there, but they keep themselves to themselves, as they always do. They’re bloody living in our country, but they wouldn’t behave like us English people.”

He glanced down at the table between them, his eyes following the different cracks in the Formica at the edge of the table. She wasn’t going to start one of her awful racist rants again, he hoped

“Of course it now takes me half-an-hour to get to work. I’ve got to get the Number Forty-Six and that is a shit bus. When I’m on an early shift it’s full of night cleaners, must of them still in their disgusting overalls with God-knows-what on them, stinking of God-knows-what and none of them are white. I can’t sit next to any of them, I don’t want to stink like them. But Terry says it’s a crap job anyway, and there’s plenty of better jobs out there. I mean, The Crown and Anchor is always looking for staff. I was going to go into pub management until I got pregnant with you.”

He’d heard this story so many times before, it was one of her favourite stories about how he ruined her life, how he stopped her becoming a pub manager. Though she now had something much bigger to hold against him.

“God, Terry is right - I do let my mouth run away from me,” his mother said. “The real reason I came here to today was to tell you something important. Terry says I have to be firm and stand up for myself. Coming here and seeing you like this is really stressing me out. I should be on medication for my stress but that fucking GP of mine says I don’t have ‘real stress’, like she fucking knows anything. Anyway, Terry has seen how stressed I get before I have to come here, and he says that’s it’s just not good for me.

“Anyway, this is going to be the last time I’m going to come and see you, Liam.”

“But you’ve only seen me here once before,” he said.

“Liam! Don’t be so fucking smart-arsed. I’m the one who’s suffering here. My nerves are in shreds and my stress levels are through the fucking roof because of what you have put me through. Don’t you try and get cleaver me, as well!”

“Sorry mum,” he quietly mumbled.

“I could have sent you an email or text to tell you, but I didn’t because I’m still a caring woman. But this will be the last time I come all the way out here. I can’t take the stress anymore. If I have to do it once more time, I’ll end up as a basket-case like you, and I have to look after myself. Terry says such and all the time. I have to think about me and look after myself. My stress is really damaging my spiritual health and I’m no good to anyone if that is all fucked up. I have made my mind up and this is for the best, for both of us.”

She stopped speaking, just stared back at him. Her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes were staring back at him. It was as if he’d done something wrong, again: she had told him off, again, and was now awaiting some reply from him.

“Please don’t,” he eventually said. It was all he could think of to say. “I don’t get many visitors here and you’re my mum.”

“You’re not listening to me, again. You don’t have to suffer with the stress I do, and this place is so unhealthy for my spiritual health. And Terry agrees with me.”

“But mum, please…”

He started to say but she cut him off by snapping:

“Liam don’t be such a whingy little bastard. My mind is made-up, and I need to look after myself. I could cut down to seeing you to once a month and then once every two months but that won’t stop my stress and won’t stop me being unwell. I have responsibilities to think of. That supermarket relies on me, and if I’m all stressed out with stress, then what use am I for them? They need me there. And Terry needs me too. He says I’m the light in his life so I have to shine brightly for him, and I can’t do that if I’m all stressed out having to visit you here. I have to look after myself and this is all for the best. When you’re all grown up, you’ll thank me for doing this.”

He silently swallowed down the saliva that had been filling his mouth. Shock and sadness were pulling down at his whole body. He couldn’t make eye contact with her; instead, he kept his eyes focused on the table between them.

“Your Aunt Sadie said I should bring you more clothes, so I’ve bagged up all your ones. I’ve left four bags of them with those snooty bitches over there.” She nodded her head towards the table where Bridget and Kirsty were sat. “Your Aunt Sadie has been all up in my business lately. She can’t keep away from me since I got my new flat, though she was too busy to help me actually move. Anyway, I’ve got to go now. Terry will be getting bored by now.”

She stood up from the table quickly, pulling her leather jacket around her body, and marched off towards the room’s entrance. He didn’t watch her go: he didn’t want to watch her walking away from him and not looking back. Was this what she’d wanted for so long? He kept his eyes down at the table in front of him.

A few moments later he heard her voice cut through the room.

“This door is fucking locked! This is fucking ridiculous!”

“Will you watch your language? Some people find swearing offensive and there’s no need for it,” Bridget’s voice replied with a sharp edge of anger in it.

“Who rattled your fucking cage?” his mother snapped back.

“Then I won’t open the door for you,” Bridget’s voice replied.

“Don’t be so fucking childish!” his mother almost shouted back.

“Right, you’ll have to wait until the end of Visiting Time!” Bridget’s voice said, a smug tone now seeping into it.

“I want to leave now! It is my right!” his mother demanded. “I’m not some fucking prisoner.”

“Let her out, Bridget. She’ll only get worse,” Kirsty’s voice said.

“She’s not the cat’s mother - she has a name,” his mother snapped.

He heard the room’s door being unlocked and then opened.

“You’re only fucking nurses! You’re nothing special!” His mother’s voice boomed out before the sound of door closing cut it off.

He glanced up and saw Bridget locking the room’s door, an angry expression creasing up her face, while Kirsty was still sat at the desk, but obviously rolling her eyes in an exaggerated expression of relief. He wanted to disappear into his chair, to hide away completely, not to be associated with his mother’s behaviour.

<><><><>

It was much later, an hour or so after lunch, that Bridget dropped off four large carrier bags of clothes for him at the ward. He took them into his room and started to unpack them. All four were packed full of his clothes - socks, underpants, and different t-shirts. There were also his other two pairs of jeans, his three non-school shirts and his two hoodies. He’d missed his hoodies - both of them were over-large: his mother had said he would grow into them when she bought him them - they were both on sale. He loved those hoodies: he could put one on and almost disappear inside of it, wrapping it around his body and pulling the hood right down over his face.

He pulled the pale grey hoodie out of the bag and found Mr Bear lying in the bottom of the plastic bag. The teddy bear was lying on his back and staring back up at him. He reached into the bag and picked up Mr Bear. Holding the teddy bear, he sat down on his bed and sat Mr Bear on his lap.

The teddy bear was large. His hands barely covered half the bear’s body as he held it around its waist. Its golden-brown fur was still soft and warm against his hands - It still had the red ribbon tied around its neck in a bow, though the ribbon had faded from a bright red to a dull one. The bear was tubby, almost podgy, a soft and very full torso with a full belly, thick and tube-like arms and legs that stuck out at ninety degrees to its body, with a round and chubby head topped off with two equally round ears.

The teddy bear’s face smiled back at him. The large, dark brown cloth nose crowned the round and squat snout at the front of its face. Its large dark glass eyes were still bright, reflecting the light from the room, seeming to shine themselves. Its broad, smiling mouth was still stitched in place.

He couldn’t remember when he’d got Mr Bear: he must have been a very young child, because Mr Bear had always been there for him, all through his childhood. When he’d been upset or feeling scared when his mother had shouted at him yet again, he was in the wrong; when he had been left alone in their flat yet again and the strange noises were scaring him; when he was feeling sad and alone, he’d take Mr Bear to bed with him and hugged the soft and warm bear close to him. Mr Bear didn’t speak, didn’t tell him off or say how much Liam had let him down. Instead, he just let Liam hug him close. The bear’s soft and yielding body had been warm and comforting in his childish arms.

He slowly stroked Mr Bear’s soft and gentle fur. He ran his hand down over the back of the bear’s head and down the bear’s back, the fur gently ruffling under his fingers. Once his hand had reached the bottom of the bear’s back, he returned it back to the top of the bear’s head. Once again, he ran his hand down over the bear’s head and back. Again and again, he stroked the bear, its soft fur smooth and relaxing under his fingers.

Why had his mother packed Mr Bear? How had she even remembered about him? He’d left Mr Bear in the back of his wardrobe back at their flat. For a year or more, she’d been making blunt comments that he was now too old for teddy bears. Fearing she might actually throw Mr Bear out; he’d hidden the teddy bear away. Well she must have found Mr Bear.

Liam picked up Mr Bear and hugged the bear close to his chest. The bear’s soft body folding underneath his grip, its soft fur gently caressing his hands. It felt so re-assuring to hug Mr Bear again, to grab again that moment of comfort from his childhood, to hold Mr Bear and pretend all the other things had gone away. Mr Bear even smelt the same as he remembered - the soft smell of the bear’s fur and under it, the slight musty smell of its old foam.

(Much later, he would hide Mr Bear at the very back of the wardrobe in his room. He couldn’t let any of the other kids on the ward find out he had a teddy bear in his room. Still having a teddy bear, at his age, was, to his thoughts, so childish and he didn’t want anyone thinking he was childish. But just having Mr Bear there, even though he was hidden away, was comforting)

<><><><>

He thought finally not having his mother in his life would be liberating, but it wasn’t.

When he had been living with her, after being on the receiving end of another one of her explosions of anger - yet again, in her view, he had done one thing or another wrong - he wished he no longer had to live with her and never had to see her again. So often, he’d sit alone in his bedroom, in their flat, and wish that he never, ever, had to see her again and that he could live miles and miles away from her.

Now he had that: Nurton Cross was miles from his mother’s new home, and she had said she was never coming back to see him, and it felt so sour. Now he wanted his mother to visit him, even if she just shouted at him and complained about all the trouble he caused her. She was his mother! Weren’t mothers always supposed to love their children? That’s what they were always saying on television. People would talk about how a mother’s love was stronger than anything else, and he would remember his own mother. Her favourite retort was that she wished he had never been born. But still, he wanted her back in his life.

As the days past, he kept hoping she would come and visit him, that she would change her mind, or if not visit him, then call him on the ward, or maybe even write to him, even though he could never remember her writing a letter to anyone. But as the days past, the silence from his mother became deafening.

Several nights, he’d fall asleep in his bed, hugging Mr Bear.

<><><><>

His weekly meetings with Aiden were not the formal meetings he’d at first expected them to be. He’d imagined they would be like any “therapy session” he’d seen on television. He would sit in a chair, or even lay on a couch, and answer Aiden’s questions which would all be about his thoughts and emotions. The reality was very different.

They never just sat in a room and talked. Always, they would do something together. They went for a walk in the hospital’s grounds, which were a lot bigger than he’d realised when he first arrived there. Other times they would do a task together: he’d enjoyed sorting out and putting the books back on the shelves in the Education Centre’s library. He hadn’t as much enjoyed helping clear out the old furniture from the ward’s over-filled and mostly ignored storeroom. He really enjoyed it when they went to the hospital’s Games Room.

The Games Room was up on the hospital’s first floor and probably about the same size as one of the Education Centre’s classrooms and it housed so many different indoor games, though they all seemed at least five years out-of-date. There were more than a few board games, packs of playing cards, a chess set and several sets of Draughts. There were four games consoles, attached to old portable TVs, none of which had flat-screens, but the games they had were all very much of the tamer/violence free type. There were also three, big table top games. His favourite was Air Hockney. It was a stupid, but fast-moving game, and he let himself just get lost in all its frenetic movement.

Whatever they did together, they would talk and talk together. It was never about his thoughts and feelings. Instead, it was always about he had been doing. They would talk about what he was doing in the Education Centre, what books he was reading, what he had been watching on television. They even talked about what was making the news headlines. Talking with Aiden was so easy, and Aiden didn’t barrage him with questions. And Aiden was such a handsome man - it was a pleasure just being with him.

That Thursday Aiden had suggested they go for a walk together in the hospital’s garden. It was a bright, sunny day and it was nice to walk outside. Part of him had hoped they would play air hockey together, but he always hoped they would.

When Aiden asked him what he had been doing, Liam replied, “My mum came to see me but that was two weekends ago.”

“How did it go?” Aiden asked.

“I don’t think she likes me much.”

“What did she say?”

“Her new boyfriend had brought her here in his car, but seeing me was only a stop-off because he was taking her shopping in Gillingham.”

“Gillingham? There’s no decent shopping there.”

“She was excited about it though. Have you met my mum?”

“No but I’ve heard about her.”

“Who from?”

“Janet.”

“Janet? How?” When did Janet meet his mother? Janet was the ward’s manager. Why would his mother have met her? His mother never said she did. It would have been something she’d have complained about.

“It was the day after you were admitted here. Your mum had to come here to sign paperwork on your behalf because she’s your legal guardian. Janet said your mum wasn’t that happy to have to come all the way out here. When Janet offered for your mum to meet with you after they had finished, your mum blew-up at her, how she wasn’t going to see you, with f-this and f-that.”

“What did Janet do?”

“She’s a very experienced nurse and she handled your mum. Don’t worry about Janet.”

“But my mum can really make a scene. She can be so bad it’s… You know.”

“Don’t worry. We’re Psychiatric Nurses. Managing people making scenes is our thing.”

“Thanks,” he quietly said. It must have been something to see, Janet “managing” his mother. His mother would have hated that. His mother won’t have forgotten that…

“How did it go? Seeing your mum last week?” Aiden asked him.

He turned his head and glanced at Aiden, who was watching him with a gentle but concerned expression on his face. Liam glanced back at the path in front of him. Did Aiden know what had happened? Had someone gossiped?

He took a deep breath, then said, “My mum said she wasn’t going to come back and see me again. She said being here was bad for her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not fair!” The words fell out of his mouth before he could think about them, but she was abandoning him. He didn’t want this.

“Let’s sit down,” Aiden said, indicating a wooden bench next to them. It was one of the wooden benches dotted around the garden. This one’s wood had turned dark with age and weather.

The bench was hard and cool against his back and buttocks as he sat down on it. And yet felt strangely comfortable.

“Do you want to see her again?” Aiden asked him.

“She’s my mum … yes, yes … She’s … She’s the person I’ve known longest and… And she’s my mum!”

“Have you told her this?”

“I tried to, but she wouldn’t let me.”

“I’ve heard that,” Aiden said. “Have you written to her?”

“I don’t know her new address?”

“What?”

“She’s moved. The council re-housed her and she didn’t give me her new address.”

“God…” Aiden said, his voice heavy with frustration. “Well, that wasn’t an accident. Do you want to ring her?”

“I don’t know her mobile number.”

“That’s easy, it’s in your notes in the office. I can easily get it for you.”

“I don’t know. She might get angry at me. She’s always getting angry at me.”

“You don’t have to call her now.”

“I just want to know that she’s going back to see me, sometime.”

“Then that’s what you need to tell her.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?” Aiden asked.

“I’ve never really told her things. I just don’t.”

“Because you don’t like telling her how you feel?”

“Because she shouts at me whenever I tried to.”

“Did you tell her you were being bullied at school?”

“She didn’t want to know things like that. They jumped me once on the way home from school and they ripped my school blazer. She hit me for letting my blazer get torn.”

“So you didn’t say anything that would upset her.”

“I had to.”

“I understand why you had to, and you still don’t want to upset her.”

“She gets angry very easily.”

“And you have to manage her anger,” Aiden said.

“Yes.”

“It’s a lot to ask of a child.”

“But she’s mum,” he protested. She was his mother. It wasn’t her fault she lost her temper so easily, and he had to make sure he didn’t upset her.

“And it’s still a lot to ask of you as you were growing up.”

“But I made her lose her temper so often.”

“No, you didn’t. She chose to lose her temper. Especially when you were little: you didn’t ask her to lose her temper. You really didn’t want her to, but she went ahead and lost her temper. Liam, she chose to get angry at you, to take out her anger out on you. It wasn’t your fault.”

He wanted to believe what Aiden was saying. It sounded right and comforting, but he had been the one who had always made her angry. It had always been his fault.

“I guess,” he said. He thought that was what Aiden wanted him to say.

“Do you want me to get you your mum’s mobile number?”

“I don’t really want to talk to her today.”

“That’s alright.”

“Thanks.”

“Shall we go back inside?” Aiden asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

<><><><>

The following day, Friday, he found he couldn’t stop himself thinking about Aiden’s offer for him to call his mother. Over and over, he found his mind rehearsing what he’d say to her, how he would explain to her why having her in his life was so important, how he would let her see how much she really did hurt him when she did things like this.

That afternoon he’d had a history listen in the Education Centre. He really enjoyed history and Mrs Williams made it all sound so interesting. They were discussing why Henry VIII wanted a divorce from Catherine of Aragon. It seemed it was much more complicated than Henry falling out of love with his Queen. Liam was surprised that there was so much politics involved with Henry VIII having more children, especially a son. It was all so distracting.

The problem came during their afternoon break. Mrs Williams had left him reading his latest book while she went for a coffee. But he couldn’t concentrate on his book. His mind kept going over and over what he would say to his mother, how he’d show her that he really did need her and that he… Well, sons were always supposed to love their mothers. He couldn’t stop himself imagining what he’d say to her. It filled his mind and left his book forgotten.

When he returned to the ward that afternoon, after his lessons in the education centre had ended, he’d seek out Aiden. He found Aiden coming out of the ward’s Nurses Office.

“Are you busy?” he quietly asked Aiden.

“No, not really. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been thinking about ringing my mum.”

“Are you sure you want to do it?”

“Yes…”

“I’ll get the ward’s mobile and your mum’s number. Give me a moment.”

Aiden retreated back into the Nurses Office, leaving Liam stood alone in the corridor. A few moments later Aiden reappeared with a black old mobile phone in his hand and a bright yellow post-it-note.

“I think we should go and use one of the Quiet Rooms,” Aiden said.

Liam nodded his agreement. He wouldn’t have wanted to make the call in the middle of the Common Room.

Aiden took them into the second Quiet Room, unlocking the door to it with his keys. They sat down together at the round table there, though Aiden didn’t lock the room’s door behind them.

Aiden placed the phone and the post-it-note down on the table.

“I’ll dial your mum’s number, but I’ll put the phone on speaker,” Aiden said.

“Why? Do you want to speak to her?” he asked Aiden.

“No but Janet said I need to listen in to this call. It was the only way she’d agree to you making it.”

“Why?”

“She’s thinking of you. Janet’s had a run in with your mum, remember?”

“Oh, yes,” he’d forgotten Aiden telling him that.

“I won’t say anything. Your mum will think it’s just you and her. Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Aiden picked up the phone again, and then he started to dial a number before pushing the speaker button on it and handing it to Liam. Liam stared down at the phone, an eleven-digit number on the small rectangle screen, but there was no sound coming out of it. He glanced up at Aiden again.

“Reception takes a few moments out here. It’s always a bit crap” Aiden said.

Liam nodded his agreement just as noise suddenly came out of the phone, a loud dialling tone. It took his mother a nerve-tighteningly long time to answer the call. Repeatedly, all that came out of the phone was the dialling tone, it went on for so long that he feared it would just go to voicemail and they’d have to do this all over again. Then, when he was expecting the automated announcement of her voicemail, his mother’s voice suddenly came onto the line.

“Who is this?” his mother’s voice demanded.

“Hello mum. It’s me, Liam,” he replied.

“Whose phone are you calling on?”

“It’s the ward’s phone, on the ward.”

“Why are you calling me?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Liam, I’m at work and far too busy to talk. We’re short staffed again. Chakrika and Jeevika are both off sick. They have no work ethic those Indians. Not like us Brits. Anyway, we said all we needed to say the other weekend.”

“But you’re my mum.”

“I know I am. I can’t forget that, and neither can half the people around here.”

“I need to see you. I need you to keep seeing me. You’re my mum and I need you.”

“We said all this the other weekend, but you didn’t listen to me. This is your problem, Liam. You only think of yourself. I told you how stressed I am and if I don’t look after myself, I’ll end up another basket-case in that place with you. That place is toxic, especially for my spiritual health. You didn’t see the state I was in when I left there. If Terry hadn’t been there for me, I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“But mum I need to see you.”

“Yeah, and it’s always about you. You didn’t think about me when you stabbed that poor boy, and I’m the one left to live with all that stress and shit. You got off lightly. I’m the one who has to trek all those miles out to that toxic place. When I’m there everyone insults me, calling themselves nurses. Then I have to go home on my own with all the life sucked out of me and my spiritual health shattered. And you’re no help. We talked about this all the other weekend, and you agreed with me. I am not putting my health at risk anymore. What would Terry do without me for starters?”

“Please mum, you’re my mum and I need to see you.”

“Liam, stop this whingy little bastard act. It’s not attractive. They were right: I should have knocked that out of you years ago. It doesn’t work on me anymore. Terry has shown me how much you have ruined my life and I’m not going back. Don’t say anymore because I have got to go back to work. I’m the only one here in charge of customer product replenishment. We agreed on no more contact, and I want you to stick to it!”

Before he could say anything else, she hung up on him, only silence coming out of the phone. Liam stared down at the phone in his hand. The screen had flashed up the closed-call icon and then had gone blank and dark.

No, no - it had all gone wrong. All those things he rehearsed in his head, what he was going to say to her, all the arguments he’d thought through, all the ways he’d planned to show her that he really needed her in his life had been for nothing. She hadn’t listened to one thing he’d said. It had been like he was still back at home with her, and yet again, he’d done something wrong.

He blinked his eyes and big hot tears filled them and ran down his face. As he tried to pull back the tears, a loud and uncontrolled sob pushed out of him. And then he was crying, loud and rapid sobs pushing out hot and large tears from his eyes. He didn’t want to - it was so childish and pathetic, but he couldn’t stop crying. The tears and sobs just took over his body.

He felt Aiden’s arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling them close together, and then he was crying on Aiden’s shoulders, and he couldn’t stop himself.

The tears seemed to last an age. He had no control over it all, but finally his tears dried up and his sobs stopped rushing up his throat. He felt so stupid as he lifted his head off Aiden’s shoulder. His eyes were sore and blurred and his head felt foggy.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he sat upright in his chair again.

“There’s no need to be. Only a person made of stone wouldn’t cry after being treated like that,” Aiden replied, pushing a box of tissues over towards him.

Liam blew his nose on one tissue and then wiped his eyes with another one. Then he didn’t know what to do with the two soggy tissues in his hand, so he just balled them up inside his fist.

“Aren’t mothers supposed to love their children,” he quietly said.

“That’s bullshit,” Aiden quietly said.

Liam turned and looked at the man. He’d never heard Aiden swear before. Aiden didn’t swear. He’d heard some of the other nurses occasionally swear but not Aiden.

“I meant it,” Aiden said. “That is complete bullshit.”

“It is?” Liam replied.

“Just because a woman has given birth to a child doesn’t mean she will automatically love that child. As a Psychiatric Nurse, I’ve met far too many people who have been really damaged because their mothers didn’t love them, even hated them. It’s a lie, Liam, and I hate it. Not all mothers will love their children.”

“So she doesn’t love me?”

“From what’s she done and what she’s just said, probably not. But it isn’t your fault.”

“What should I do?”

“You can’t make someone love you, whoever they are.”

“I’ve got to live with it.”

“But you’ve got me and the other nurses here.”

“And Mark comes and sees me. He’s seen me more times here than my mum has.”

“Yes, and he’s a good bloke.”

“I think I want to go to my room and read.”

“But if you want to talk or you’re having bad feelings, come and find me, okay?”

“Okay.”

They left the Quiet Room together, Aiden locking the door behind them. At the same moment, Janet left the Nurses’ Office. Aiden walked up to her, and Liam followed behind him. He felt it was what he should be doing.

When he reached her, Aiden handed over the mobile phone to Janet, saying, “Here’s the Ward Phone back.”

“How did it go?” Janet asked.

“Not as bad as your counter with her,” Aiden said. “But on a score of nought to ten, awful.”

“I’m sorry, Liam,” Janet said, now looking at him with a concerned expression written across her face.

Liam just shrugged his shoulders in reply. There was nothing he could really say.

Then the mobile phone rang in Janet’s hand. A tinny little tone loudly emitted from it. Janet answered it.

“Hello…” she said into the phone. “No, this is Janet Hayes, I’m the Ward Manager… I remember you very well, Ms Duffield… Because I said he could… Because you told him you are no longer going to visit him… You’re his mother and his legal guardian… Nonsense, Nurton Cross is nothing like that… Do not speak to me like that! Don’t speak to anyone like that! That is disgusting language and who do you think you are?... No you’re not. You’re a very selfish woman!... Because if you had been a caring mother, Liam wouldn’t be in the mess he is in… Oh good, she’s hung up on me.” Her last comment was directed at Liam and Aiden, as she smiled at Liam. “I’ve wanted to say that to her since the moment I met her.”

“You stood up to my mum,” Liam said, the surprise pushing his words out. “People just give in to her when she shouts like that.”

“I’ve met bullies before, and your mother is one of them. I’m sorry Liam,” Janet said.

His mother was a bully? He’d never thought it before. Bullies were kids like Rhys Clarke, kids who used violence to get what they wanted. But his mother had used her bad temper and her shouting to get what she wanted, always.

“My mum’s a bully?” Liam said.

“Yes, I’m sorry but she is,” Janet quietly said. “But you’re not one.”

“I want to go and read in my room,” he told her.

“Of course,” Janet said, adding, “Aiden?”

Aiden just nodded his head in reply to her before he and Liam walked back to Liam’s room.

<><><><>

The following day, Saturday, Mark was due to visit him, and Liam hadn’t forgotten about that.

He’d felt that moment of pleasure sharp in his mind as he walked into the Visiting Room and saw Mark sitting, waiting for him. As before, Mark was casually dressed, wearing a pale blue cotton shirt and black jeans, and smiling back at him.

When he sat down at the table they had started talking about books. Mark was very keen to hear if he was still enjoying the Harry Potter books. Liam found himself bubbling over with excitement. He’d enjoyed the last book Mark had given him and that enjoyment had spilled over into his words. He chattered on and on about the book. Finally, Mark had asked him, “What are you reading now?”

“I’ve just finished The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Mrs Williams asked me to read it and then write a review of it. I didn’t really like it though.”

“Why not?”

“It was all really simple. The good characters were good, and the bad ones were really bad, and he was really reusing the Jesus story from the bible.”

“I read it at school, and I didn’t like it either. I had several Christian teachers at school, and I was expected to like it.”

“Mrs Williams said she wanted me to put together a good argument why I like it, or I didn’t, and I didn’t.”

There was a pause in their conversation. It sometimes happened with Mark, as if Mark had stopped to think of something else. Liam would just stay quiet too. He now knew that they’d only be quiet for a few moments before Mark spoke. It happened here too. A moment later Mark asked him, “How are you doing?”

“My mum came to see me, two weeks ago.”

“That’s good.”

“She said she’s been rehoused by the council and that you helped her.”

“I only wrote one short letter to support her need to be rehoused. I only did it under the understanding that she visits you regularly.”

“She also said that she’s not coming to see me again, I stress her out too much.”

“The bitch!” Mark hissed. “I should write to the council and say she faked my letter.”

“Don’t! Please don’t,” Liam felt a moment of panic. Mark couldn’t do that, she was still his mother - he didn’t want to make her homeless, not that.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I was angry. She promised me over and over that she’d keep visiting you if I wrote that damn letter. I should know better: I’ve been a solicitor long enough.”

“She’s good at getting her own way.”

“But to abandon you here like that, I don’t believe it.”

“Aiden, my nurse, said that not all mothers love their children.”

“He’s right. I don’t think my mother loved me. She loved my brothers because they were the perfect sons, but she didn’t love me, the runt of the litter.”

“Did she say so?”

“God, yes. It really hurt.”

“What happened?... Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosey,” he said. He felt an uncomfortable moment of embarrassment creeping up the back of his neck. Was he asking too personal a question of Mark? Was he making Mark feel uncomfortable?

“Don’t worry, you’re not. I think you need to hear this.”

“Thank you,” he quietly replied.

“I was a bit older than you when it happened. I was twenty-four, nearly twenty-five. I’d only recently finally qualified as a solicitor and started working for a law firm in Brighton. I had also met Dean, my… my first real boyfriend.” That was no surprise – somehow, he’d known Mark was gay, or had Mark been hinting heavily at it? He nodded back at Mark.

“I thought it was time to be honest with my parents, come out to them if you like. My mother had been on and on at me about wasn’t it time I settled down and got married, now I was finally a solicitor. She meant married to a woman. Both my brothers had married their wives in their early twenties.

“Well, I went to visit my parents for Sunday dinner. I got to their home just after they’d got home from church. I didn’t get my courage up until well after dinner. We were sat in the lounge, my mother, my father and me, so I told them. I actually told them about Dean and how much he meant to me and that he was my boyfriend.

“My father snapped at me that it was only a phase I was going throw. I was twenty-four for God’s sake. My mother just exploded that I was disgusting and immoral and filthy and no son of hers. She went on and on at me about how disgusted she was with me. She actually said she wished I wasn’t her son. I lost it then and told her to fuck off. I actually told my parents to fuck off. I left the house. I got up from my chair and left the house. I walked to the train station. I had to because there was no bus running on a Sunday there, and my father had given me a lift from the station. I had to wait an age for a train, and it took me ages to get home - Sunday service and all that shit.

“My father called me at ten o’clock that night and told me off for upsetting my mother. I hung up on him. I wasn’t taking that nonsense. My mother wrote to me the next week. It was actually a handwritten letter, but it was awful. She was disgusted at me, I’d brought shame on her, she wished I had never been born and that she had been right to never have loved me. That was the worst part, her not loving me. I knew she had a low opinion of me before I came out. I certainly wasn’t her favourite son, but that was the worst.”

“Did you see them again?” Liam quietly asked.

“Not for years. At first, it was a relief. I didn’t have my mother telling me everything I was going or wanted to do was wrong. I could get on with my life and forget about her disapproval. The problem was they were still my parents, and as awful as they had been, I still missed them. That was the worst. They didn’t want anything to do with me, but I still wanted them in my life.”

“What happened?”

“My mother died, five years ago, from cancer. My father had already had a stroke. I didn’t know any of this. I only found out when my brother James contacted me and told me. James and I were in touch but only really exchanging Christmas Cards. Well, I went to see my mother in the hospice, my father had been moved into a nursing home by then. She was right at the end of her life and in a coma. She didn’t even know I was there. I just sat by her bed and thought about all those things I had wanted to say to her, but I hadn’t. Now it was too late.”

“Did she leave you a letter of anything?”

“After her funeral, literally at the funeral tea afterwards, I found out she’d kept a diary in the last few years of her life. Someone had suggested it to her as a way of dealing with having cancer. My brother James told me, and he gave me her diary to read. I know he thought he was being helpful, but he’s no great thinker. That’s why he did so well in the army. He’d obviously hadn’t read it.”

“Was there something bad about you in it?”

“No, worse than that. There wasn’t anything about me. She kept it for nearly two years and there were pages and pages of it in her bad handwriting. She only mentioned me once and that was to complain. She wrote any entry complaining about the cost of making her will. She said that if I hadn’t ‘disowned’ her, then I could have written her will for free.”

“That’s shit,” Liam quietly said.

“That nurse of yours, Aiden, is right. Just because a woman has given birth to her child doesn’t mean she will always love it. There are far too many women who never loved their children,” Mark said.

Liam silently nodded his head in agreement.