Read An Impossible Dilemma: A Psychological Thriller Novel Online
Authors: Netta Newbound
She beckoned to a middle-aged woman who stood at the back of the salon mixing some hair colour. The woman walked over to us, eyeing me suspiciously.
"What is it?" she said to the girl."
"Nothing's wrong,” she said. “It’s just that this lady wants me to cut all her hair off, and surprise her. I don't know what to do."
"Are you sure? You have beautiful hair," the older woman said to my reflection.
"Yes, I'm sure. I just want a change. It’s been tied up for years."
She shrugged and nodded to the young girl and went back to the back of the salon.
"How about I cut it to your shoulders first and see what you think?"
"To my chin. I don't want to be able to tie it up."
When I returned to the hospital, I sported a fantastic new hair-do. I loved it. With the bulk removed, my curls had sprung to life and it altered my face completely. But not only that, I felt as though a weight had been lifted.
Emily did a double take when she saw me and began to cry. "Mummy, where's all your hair?"
"I've had it cut, baby. Don't you like it?"
She stopped crying, her eyebrows furrowed and looked at it again.
"I liked it before."
"I think it's beautiful," Christine said.
"Thank you. See what a couple of hours on my own can do? I'm not fit to be let out." I laughed. "Any longer and God knows what I'd have come back looking like."
"Well, we've had a wonderful time haven't we, Emily?"
Emily nodded, still staring at my hair.
"We've played lots of games and Emily's showed me how clever she is with her sums and her writing."
"And I played with a dolly," Emily added.
"If I gave you the dolly and a couple of books, do you think you could sit outside the door for a few minutes? I need to have a chat with your mum."
"Okay."
Emily seemed happily ensconced in her own world when we went back into the room. I took the seat Emily had vacated.
"Well, as I said, we had a wonderful time. You have a very bright little girl there," she said.
"Thanks."
"I've had the reports from Doctor Wilson, so I know what's been happening over the past few months. Losing her father like that in itself is enough to cause untold amounts of damage to a little girl. However, I believe your main concern is the stealing and violent outbursts?"
“Yes, that’s right.”
"She claims she can't help it, and from what she describes, I believe her. I think it's a lot more than being badly behaved, although it's hard to tell in this environment. I would prefer to visit Emily in the classroom and also at home if that’s all right with you?"
"Okay." I nodded.
"But, from what I've seen up to now, I'm fairly certain Emily's problems stem from her illness. We can work with you and her teachers to try to establish ways of living with it, and how you should react when she does behave this way."
"That would be great. It's so difficult to know what to say or do. I don't know if I'm causing more bad behaviour by the way I deal with things. She blamed her imaginary friend for a while, although he doesn’t seem to be around recently."
She smiled. “It’s often easier to say you were made to do something rather than doing it off your own bat.”
I smiled. “I thought that.”
"I discussed her illness with her and she tells me she's better."
"Yes, she says she’s better when she's feels okay, like she does at the moment."
"I asked her why she thinks she's better and she said it was the medicine you gave her when she was in bed."
"Medicine?" My stomach dropped.
She nodded.
"I haven't given her any medicine … Oh yeah I did. Paracetamol, when she had a headache."
"Then that's what she thinks is making her better," she smiled.
My heart raced. I felt as though I had an army of jittering termites running through my veins. Did she believe me? There was no way of telling. Was I just being paranoid again?
"Okay, Mrs Lyons. I'll need you to sign one more form, giving me permission to approach the school."
"No problem."
"I'll be in touch over the next few days to let you know what we arrange."
"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my voice as steady as possible but I could hear the quiver in it. The doctor didn't seem to notice. Emily had never mentioned the medicine I gave her before. I didn’t even know she remembered. My mind raced.
I couldn't get out of that place fast enough.
When I told Frank later, he shrugged it off again.
"Nobody knows anything—it's just your guilty conscience working overtime, lass."
"I hope you're right."
"Of course I'm right. How many mothers give their children medicine when they're sick in bed?"
"I suppose, when you put it like that."
"Think about it, lass. Nobody in their right mind would suspect anything like what you're thinking."
"But Christine's a psychiatrist. She's trained to notice the unspoken answers as well as the ones that leave your mouth."
"Only if they know there's something to look for. She's assessing a six-year-old girl for behavioural issues. All she would have been looking for, as far as her home life is concerned, is some form of abuse. And Emily is the most loved and well cared for little girl—anyone can see that.
"What would I do without you, Frank?"
"You'd manage just fine is what you'd do."
"I don't know. I’d probably walk into the police station and hand myself in." I smiled then sighed.
"It won't come to that, lass. I promise you."
The next few weeks were uneventful, apart from the odd little scrape at school and several stolen items, but we didn't make a big deal about it. Once questioned, Emily confessed all, so there was no harm done.
Christine Forbes visited the classroom twice, and came to the house afterwards to meet the family. Emily gave her a guided tour of her bedroom and it all went well.
Just as I was beginning to settle down, the phone rang in the clinic. It was Rosemary Jackson.
"Mrs Lyons. You need to collect Emily. She's attacked another little girl so badly she’s been taken to hospital in an ambulance."
"Oh my God! What did she do?"
"She kicked her repeatedly and then smashed a chair on top of her."
"You're joking!"
"Sadly, no." Her tone was flat.
I raced from the clinic, and hurried into the school a few minutes later.
Emily sat outside Mrs Jackson’s office, still very angry. She snarled, “Go away,” at me as I entered.
"What have you done?" I hissed.
"It wasn't my fault." She spat the words at me. The fury in her eyes shocked me.
"Don't tell me, you were forced. You couldn't help it?"
"No I couldn't. Kaylie started it."
"Kaylie? Oh no, not again." Kaylie's mother had been cool towards us since the party and refused to allow her daughter to play with Emily.
"She started it."
"How, Emily? How did she start it?" The anger was evident in my voice.
"She said I’m gonna die."
All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. I couldn't breathe—couldn't speak. I shook my head from side to side, unable to respond to what she'd said. I knew how cruel some people could be, but why would anybody tell a child that another child was going to die?
"Nonsense!" I finally mumbled as I sat down next to her.
"She said that's why I'm allowed back in school, because I'm gonna die, just like Daddy." Her voice broke as she began to cry.
"Come on—we're going." I grabbed Emily’s hand and headed for the door.
The receptionist stood up and leaned over the counter. "Mrs Lyons, Mrs Jackson wants you to wait here. She's on the phone with Kaylie's mother."
"Tell Mrs Jackson to whistle."
I walked from the school with my daughter and drove home.
At the house, Frank was talking on the phone. "She's here now, hold on." He covered the mouthpiece. "It's Emily's teacher."
"Would you take Emily please, Frank?"
"Course I will. Come on, lass, let’s go into the garden it's a lovely day."
I waited until I heard the back door close before speaking. "Hello," I snapped.
"Mrs Lyons, Why did you leave? I needed to speak to you."
"Because I was worried what I might do to you and your blabber-mouthed staff if I stayed."
"Really—what's that supposed to mean?"
"Did you find out why Emily did what she did?"
"I didn't have a chance. It was quite stressful and Kaylie's mother is distraught."
"I couldn't give a toss about Kaylie's stuck up, toffee-nosed mother to be quite honest with you."
"Mrs Lyons, I really don't …"
"You really don't … what? You don't know how Kaylie's mum found out about Emily's illness? Or you don’t know why Kaylie told Emily the only reason she’s allowed back at school is because she’s dying? Or is it you don't know why someone would dream of telling a six-year-old girl all of these things? Which is it, Mrs Jackson?"
Silence on the other end of the phone.
I continued. "Because
I don't know
how a respectable head teacher could shoot her mouth off to all and sundry about my daughter’s illness. So you can call Kaylie's
distraught
mother back and tell her that she caused today's attack, and the way I'm feeling right now, I'd say it was justified. Goodbye, Mrs Jackson."
I hung up.
I refused to take Emily back to school. I applied to homeschool her and found a group of children living in the Cumbria area who met up in Penrith town once a week, to keep the children socialising.
I received a written apology from Mrs Jackson. I think she was worried I would report her, but I couldn't be bothered. It's not as if I even knew which teacher had blabbed.
However, this grand gesture on my part caused a problem at home with the running of the farm and the clinic. Frank offered to supervise Emily if I set up the work I wanted her to do, and I decided that would have to do for now.
The paperwork had been piling up in the clinic, as well as the ordering and invoices. I always made sure Alex and Steph's wages were paid on time though—I couldn’t afford for them to get fed up with me and take off.
I intended to start looking for a young person to help on the farm in the mornings and the clinic in the afternoon. This would free me up to sort Emily out at home and also get on top of the admin.
However, dreams are free. Living in the country, miles from the nearest village made finding help difficult. I could ask around and maybe even place an ad in the local paper but that would all take time. We'd have to cope whichever way we could for now.
It was best I kept myself busy anyway. Emily's hospital appointment loomed and it had been playing constantly on my mind.
***
"You don't look too well, lass. Is something wrong?" Frank asked.
"Didn't sleep a wink. I'm okay though. Are you ready?"
Frank stood up from the table and folded his newspaper.
"Em, come on. We're going," I yelled.
Emily bounced down the stairs.
We piled into the car and headed to the hospital. We had to meet Doctor Wilson at his office again. My stomach gurgled and my head felt thick. I hoped I wasn't coming down with something.
***
Doctor Wilson called us in. I gestured to Diane to watch Emily and she nodded.
"Oh, Mrs Lyons, Could you bring Emily in with you this time?" Doctor Wilson said.
"Of course, come on, Em."
An Indian man sat behind the desk.
We sat opposite him and I returned his smile.
"This is Doctor Prajesh. He's come from Birmingham especially to meet Emily today," Doctor Wilson said as he sidled in behind the desk and pulled up a chair next to the Indian doctor.
"Hello, pleased to meet you. I've been looking forward to it," Doctor Prajesh said. His Brummy accent shocked me as I was expecting a sultry Indian lilt to his voice.
"You are very famous in our hospital, Emily," he continued.
Emily laughed nervously and looked at me, reaching for my arm.
I smiled, and nodded encouragement.
"We're all amazed at how well you've been, because you were very sick before, weren't you?"
Emily nodded.
Doctor Wilson cleared his throat. "We want to do a few more in depth tests this time,” he said. “Doctor Prajesh, has state-of-the-art equipment and will carry out these extra tests for us."
"What are the tests?" I asked. The familiar jittery feeling had returned.
“As far as Emily is concerned today, there will be little or no difference. The difference is in how we perform the tests and the information gathered. We will be taking a closer look into the cells, trying to work out what is going on at a deeper level," Doctor Wilson explained.
"Okay." I nodded, still none the wiser. I would have to allow them to go ahead with their tests. How would I explain otherwise? Plus, after a sleepless night, I'd come to the conclusion that even if they could go deep into the Proteum that's floating about in Emily's body, how would they know it wasn't hers? If Proteum was different from person to person, then not everybody's Proteum would work. They would have to match it, like bone marrow or blood. It was all pie in the sky anyway. They seemed clueless too, as if they were just hoping and praying for a breakthrough for this terrible illness.
"Did you complete the diary for me?"
"Oh yes." I dug out the notebook I'd completed from my bag and passed it to him.
"That's great. Okay, shall we get cracking?"
Back in Doctor Wilson's office later that day, both doctors were perusing a graph. We'd left Emily with Diane this time.
"I'm showing Doctor Prajesh all the test results from the very beginning. Showing him all the fluctuations, including today's.”
"So there are more fluctuations?" I asked.
"I'm afraid so. Have you noticed any signs with Emily at home?"
I shook my head. "No, not really."
"Her results aren't as bad as they have been but they are significantly decreased from two months ago. It's an absolute mystery. We've gone over the diary you did for us and at first glance we can't see any patterns with her food and behaviour. Which, to be honest, we didn't expect to find, yet we needed to rule that out. But we will have them properly analysed."
My stomach leapt to my mouth. I glanced at Frank and smiled. My hands knotted tightly in my lap, trying to control the tremors I felt.
"We've also had a report from Doctor Forbes. She agrees that the behaviour is likely due to the illness. She was quite taken with your daughter, by the way. She said Emily has higher than average intelligence."
I smiled and nodded.
"All these results will be compiled and added to the results from the tests Doctor Prajesh will do over the next couple of weeks. We don't know what will come of it, if anything. But Emily's got us all sitting up and paying attention, which can only be a good thing.”
After patting Emily down for unauthorised items, we left the hospital. Instead of going inside McDonalds we went via the drive-thru. Emily wasn’t happy about this but she didn't continue with her sulking once she had her Happy Meal.
***
Things had calmed down into a steady routine. Frank was amazing with Emily, and the old-school way he taught seemed to have her mesmerized. She even looked forward to her lesson times.
"Might have to make this a permanent solution." I laughed.
"I enjoy it, and in fact, I'm good at it. It's nice to be able to do something well for the first time in ages."
"You've definitely got the magic touch."
He smiled. "I don't know about going that far, but at least I have a reason to get up in the morning."
"Suits everyone, then." I hugged his neck.
The phone rang. It was Doctor Wilson.
"I have the lumbar puncture results and it's as I thought, Emily's figures have dropped again, quite considerably."
"Oh no …"
"I wouldn't worry too much. The way these results have been yo-yoing it's just as likely they'll have skyrocketed by your next appointment."
My stomach dropped. It was easy for him to be excited and hopeful. I knew the truth. The only way she'd get better results would be for some other poor person to die, and that wasn't going to happen again. We only had the decline of Emily's health to look forward to, and then …
Doctor Wilson interrupted my thoughts. "Doctor Prajesh is in the middle of his tests and we will hopefully hear from him by the beginning of next week."
"Okay, thank you."
As I replaced the receiver, the clinic mobile phone rang. "What the …" Stephanie hadn’t made an appearance yet this morning. I had a feeling it would be one of those days, even though it was barely eight o'clock.
I answered the phone.
"Victoria, Angela here. Sam asked me to call. We've got a heifer that's been caught in a barbed wire fence, and she's a mess. Can one of you come out soon?"
"Yeah, no problem. We won't be long."
"Steph," I called from the bottom of the stairs.
Stephanie appeared on the landing with a large white towel wrapped around her body and a pink one on her head.
"We've got a call-out. Anderson's farm. A heifer has had a fight with some barbed wire."
"Give me ten minutes and I'll be right with you."
"Are there any bookings this morning?"
"Not till eleven—do you wanna come along for the ride?"
"Why not?"
The Anderson farm was only a couple of miles down the road. A dairy farm with two hundred head of cattle. They always used us because our call-out charges were cheaper than using the vet in town, plus they were good friends with Frank.
Samuel Anderson was a white-haired, white-bearded Cumbrian whose farm had been passed down through the generations. Farming was all he'd ever known.
"Nice to see you, lass. I didn't expect to see two of you."
"Don't worry, Sam, we won't charge you twice." I winked.
He laughed. "That's not what I meant. How's Frank? Been a while since I've seen ’im."
"He's doing great, actually. Thanks for asking."
"Do you want a cuppa while Stephanie looks at the heifer? I know Angie would love to see you, and I know you ain’t too fond o’ cattle." Not many people knew of my fear of cows but Sam did, and he found it hysterical.
I pushed the door of the farmhouse open. "Have you got the kettle on?" I said.
"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Come in, come in, lass. I love your new hair-do." Angela Anderson jumped up from her armchair by the fire and hugged me tight.
"Thanks. It's probably due to be cut again by now." I patted at my hair, as if I could tell what it looked like by the touch.
"Oh, it is nice to see you, lass."
"You too."
She poured the tea from a huge teapot that sat on the range and placed the two cups between us on the table, as well as a plate of biscuits.
"Thanks, Angie."
She nodded and sat down opposite me, wiping her hands on her blue apron. "How are things since—you know—Jonathan?"
I nodded. "Surprisingly okay. Frank's been amazing, to be honest. A real rock. And Stephanie, well I'm lucky, that's all I can say. Without them, I'd be up shit creek."
"We all need ’elp. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to Sam. But I guess it's inevitable—none of us are getting any younger."
"Do you employ anyone?"
"Sam gets the odd guy in every now and then, but on the whole he does the lot ’imself. Works ’imself into the ground, he does, and fer what? I'd prefer to sell up now while we're still capable of enjoying what time we ’ave left. Do a bit of travelling and stuff. I've always wanted to go to Canada."
"I definitely would if I were you. Life's so short. Look at Frank. Never a day's sickness in his life and then, wham! A stroke. It's taken nearly seven years to get where he is now. He's doing great and able to fend for himself again, within reason, but was all the hard work worth it? He almost killed himself and what for? To leave all his hard-earned money to his only son, who beat him to the grave."
"No, but you will. And God knows you deserve it. Are you thinking of selling up?"
"To be honest, it never crossed my mind. Not a bad idea, though."
The farm still belonged to Frank, and although we’d discussed it when he first had his stroke, Jonathan refused to take ownership. Since Jon died we’d just got on with it, but for what? It didn't make sense.
Stephanie and Sam came into the kitchen like a couple of whirlwinds. "Get this lass a nice hot cuppa. She has the most nimble fingers," Sam said.
"Oh, aye. Do I have to worry about you two?" Angela laughed, raising her eyebrows.
"Don't be silly, woman. Everybody knows you're the love of me life." He turned his back to her, grinned and shrugged at us.
"Nice save, Sam," she said, and we all laughed.
***
Later on at home, I sat next to Frank on the sofa. "Have you ever considered selling up, Frank?"
"I've been thinking of nothing else since Jonathan died, but you've been managing okay and I didn't want to upset you.”
"It wouldn't upset me. I must admit, it never crossed my mind until today. Something Angela Anderson said when I was over there this morning."
"Do you think we should?"
"I don't know. It's up to you."
"Don't be daft, lass. It's up to us."
"It's your farm," I said.
"One that I haven't done a stroke of work on for over six years. It's our farm. Our farm. Our clinic. Our home."
"What would you want to do if we did?" I sat on the sofa beside him.
"I couldn't move into town into one of them shoeboxes. I've loved living in this house. It would be hard to leave but I guess we have to be realistic, lass."
"I'd have to find work and juggle Emily—for now at least." The weight of that sentence hung between us.