She’d take all her friends to the garden-centre café where he worked, just so she could show him off, and he would give them extra cake.
‘Grandma, Joe is
my
boyfriend, you know,’ I’d tease ‘He’s not actually yours.’
‘I’ve seen a really big hippo!’ said Ethan, suddenly, very loudly.
There was a very large woman sitting not far from us. This was probably merely a coincidence but Joe was taking no chances.
‘Ethan, put those
down
,’ he hissed, bolting towards him and snatching the binoculars. ‘You can’t shout things like that in public places!’
Ethan giggled mischievously as he let Joe put the binoculars back in their box and his drink back in his backpack for him.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll take some pictures for Penny,’ Joe was saying. Penny was Ethan’s new girlfriend. She also had Down’s syndrome. She was meant to be coming today but her rabbit had died and she was too upset. Joe had texted me beforehand to say not to mention it because Ethan was extra-sensitive at the moment with losing his mum.
‘I really love Penny, Joe,’ Ethan was saying, while Joe wrapped up what remained of Ethan’s sausage breakfast bun in a napkin, to take with us.
‘I know but, Eth, it’s only been a week, best wait to say those three little words; otherwise, she might run a mile. Women get very easily scared off, you know.’
I watched them have this man-to-man chat; how tender Joe was with his brother. Yes, I had feelings there for Joe, still. Big feelings, that scared me. And I knew it was mutual. That was the scariest thing of all.
Joe turned, breaking my thoughts. ‘Right, are we just going to stay here discussing Ethan’s love life, which is better, frankly, than yours and mine put together, or are we actually going to see some animals?’ he asked.
I’ve always thought there was something romantic, melancholic about zoos – especially London Zoo. Maybe because it always seems to rain when I go, like it was today. Not a full-on downpour, just a damp, warm, summer drizzle that doesn’t really get going but never stops either. The animals looked even more lost and sad in the rain. It was almost as if the giraffes, with their huge black lashes and their slow-motion munching, were silently pleading with you to take them back to the Serengeti; as if the lion, sitting regally in his enclosure, was secretly sending you telepathic messages with each slow, elegant blink, willing you to set him free, take him back to home to Africa.
I said this to Joe. He knew what I meant.
‘I think that’s
exactly
why the zoo feels melancholic,’ he said, as we drifted around, arm in arm in the drizzle. Typically, neither of us had brought an umbrella. ‘Because really, we shouldn’t be here, the animals shouldn’t be here. They should be running free in their natural habitat … They’re all just making the best of a bad lot, at the mercy of us humans to save them.’
‘That’s sometimes how I feel when I go to see patients on the wards,’ I said. ‘Or when I take Grace down to Millbank Day Centre, and she looks at me with that face.’
‘What face is that?’ said Joe.
‘The one that says: Get me out of this hellhole now! Some of the day centres are fantastic but we don’t go to that one any more. Last time, Grace said to me afterwards, “Listen darlin’, just because I’ve got mental-mind disorder” – that’s her own description of schizophrenia, by the way; she never uses the S word – “doesn’t mean I like doing jigsaws or playing fucking Connect 4, any more than the next person.” I thought that was fair dos, really.’
Joe agreed. ‘How is Grace anyway?’ he asked. We were sitting in the hippo enclosure, watching them waddle to the edge of their pool, then sink into the festering, brown, poo-strewn water. It stank in there but nobody seemed to mind.
‘She’s a bit all over the place, to be honest. I’m worried about her at the moment.’
What I didn’t tell him was that I was worried about me, too. That I’d had several panic attacks at Grace’s in recent weeks. Although I’d managed to hide them so far, I suspected it was only a matter of time before I could no longer do so. That they were affecting my life more and more. I knew how to manage them but that didn’t take away how they made me feel, and it wasn’t that much fun feeling like I might die several times a day.
‘Well, remember what we said on the AA list?’ he said. ‘That you can’t save everyone? You can help, but you can’t save?’
Ethan had discovered that the hippo house was echoey and was enjoying hippo-type snorting noises. It was keeping him amused.
‘Yeah, I know.’ I shrugged. ‘I’m just hoping I can help her.’
I gave Joe a brief breakdown of the situation, how Grace had lost custody of Cec, but how much she missed her. How she made things up about their relationship.
‘God, that’s so sad,’ said Joe.
‘I know. I’m trying to get her to see that there’s no way she’s going to have a relationship with her daughter if she keeps harking back to the past and telling herself what an awful person she is.’
‘Well, I’ve no doubt you’ll get through to her,’ said Joe. ‘Also, human beings are resilient: they can go through the most horrendous stuff and still come out the other side.’
I liked to watch his face when he talked. He had such an open face, eyes that held no secrets. ‘I really believe that,’ he said, turning to me. ‘That there’s always hope.’
We left the hippo house for the elephants. Ethan ran ahead, excitedly.
So what do you say to her?’ Joe asked as we walked. ‘How do you deal with it in your job when people are so damaged?’
‘You can’t “deal with it” as such,’ I said. ‘It’s happened. You can’t change the past. I just tell her that it’s not her fault, that she’s ill and that I’ll do my best to help her have some sort of relationship with her daughter again, because ultimately I think that’s the key to her recovery, anyone’s recovery. I mean, she’ll never be fully recovered, but she could be better.’
‘What’s the key?’
‘Human relationships. Love. That’s what experience at work has taught me anyway … What?’ I said self-conciously. I realized Joe was looking at me as we walked and talked.
‘Nothing, just, I really admire your passion, I suppose, your belief that you can help them. Sometimes I just want to scream at my students.’
‘Oh, believe me, I sometimes want to do that too. So what’s the deal with your students?’ I asked. ‘I’m guessing most of them have not had the easiest start in life either?’
Joe blew air through his lips. ‘Yeah, I dunno, you’ve made me think, I suppose. I spend most of my time telling them not to let their past define them. That blaming your past is not a good enough excuse – but maybe it is? Maybe I’m too harsh on them? Expect too much.’
I shrugged. ‘No, I think that’s a healthy message. Also, it’s different. They’re not ill as such, are they?’
‘Not as
such
,’ Joe said. ‘Some of them are just bone idle. They’re so young and yet so lazy, Robbie, and
hopeless
– in the true sense of the word, it’s really sad – in that they think, because they had this shitty past, and Mum was an alky and Dad was a gambler, whatever, that nothing can change, so they may as well give up. It annoys the hell out of me.’
I smirked, I couldn’t help it.
‘I know, great teacher I’m turning out to be, eh? Listen, you lazy bastards, you’ve only yourselves to blame!’
‘Actually, I think they’re lucky to have you,’ I said. ‘At least you care enough about them to
get
angry.’
‘Oh, yeah, I do care. I love my job. No matter how frustrating it can be.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘But also, I get it. I get angry about some of my suicidal patients, I can’t help it – especially the young ones, especially ones like Levi with his beautiful, healthy body. I mean, what a
waste
. I think about my mum – how much she wanted to live – and now your mum, and then I think about them fantasizing constantly about throwing themselves off the nearest bridge or whatever, and I think,
Fine love, you do yourself in; move over for someone who does want to live
.’ Joe was nodding, as we meandered, arm in arm, listening to me. ‘Actually, I’ve never admitted that to anyone,’ I said.
Obviously, in my CPN head, I knew some of my patients’ depression was so devastating, if you’d given them the choice between life and terminal cancer, they’d have chosen,
begged
, for cancer to take them quickly (that’s the thing with suicide, once they get to that point, they want it so badly) but, intellectually, I found it hard to grasp. Literally having no hope. No hope of hope. So that was something, wasn’t it? That was hopeful. ‘So, you see,’ I added. ‘
Great
psychiatric nurse I’m turning out to be.’
‘Yeah, we should develop a new care programme,’ said Joe. ‘You’ve only yourself to blame, mate, Limited.’
‘Very limited,’ I said.
Joe laughed.
We went to see the elephants, then had our packed lunch, sitting on a bench, under a shelter, watching the sun fight with the drizzle. A rainbow arced across the fields. ‘Are you two going to get married?’ Ethan said out of the blue. We both stopped mid-sandwich.
‘No,’ Joe coughed. ‘Not as far as I know. Not unless Robyn has any plans up her sleeve.’
I shot Joe a look. ‘Why do you say that, Ethan?’ I said.
‘’Cause you’re having a baby. And you have to get married if you are having a baby. I’m going to marry Penny before we have a baby.’
‘God, when are you living, Eth?’ said Joe. ‘The 1950s? Things have moved on, mate. You don’t have to get married to have a baby. You don’t even have to be in a couple.’
I was the one to cough this time.
‘I love her, Robbie,’ Ethan said … ‘I love Penny. She’s beautiful.’
‘She sounds beautiful. Have you got a picture of her?’ I said.
Ethan jigged up and down excited: ‘Joe. The picture! The picture on your phone! Show Robbie!’
Joe put down his sandwich, rummaged in his pocket for the phone and, once he’d found the picture, passed it to me. It showed Ethan hand in hand with a dark-haired Penny. She had her hair up and was wearing a white cotton summer dress. They were standing in front of an enclosure with pigs in it. They looked so happy.
‘We were at the farm,’ Ethan said. ‘Penny loves animals as much as me.’
‘Match made in heaven,’ I said. ‘And she is beautiful, you’re right.’
I passed the phone back to Joe. ‘Yeah, just …’ he said, his mouth full of sandwich as he talked, which made Ethan giggle. ‘Don’t get carried away with that lady of yours, Ethan Sawyer. Don’t go getting married, either. Bloody women.’ He winked at me. ‘They’re more trouble than they’re worth.’
We finished our lunch, then Joe said, ‘Right, who’s for turtles?’
‘Yeah!’ said Ethan. ‘They were Mum’s favourite. I miss my mum,’ he said, looking very deflated all of a sudden.
‘Yeah, I miss her, too, mate,’ said Joe, putting an arm around his brother. I put an arm around Joe. ‘I miss her, too. Come on, let’s go and see the turtles, for Mum.’
I sat there for a minute or two, watching them run across the field, their coats flapping behind them, thinking again how I wished the pregnancy thing hadn’t happened, that Joe and I had got back in touch but that the baby hadn’t happened.
The reptile house was
tropically warm and lovely and I was aware of how much I was enjoying myself, at the same time as being aware of the nagging worry at the back of my mind that I was getting into something I couldn’t handle, and that I was pulling Joe with me. But what was the alternative? To shut him out completely? I didn’t want to do that either.
I didn’t notice the two teenage boys at first, I was too busy admiring Dolly and Dolores, the two giant Galapagos turtles; and was only aware, somewhere in my peripheral consciousness, of two male voices, laughing, that honking, hoarse kind of noise that boys on the cusp of their voice breaking make. I was standing next to Ethan, who was peering at Dolores through his binoculars, giving a running commentary, David Attenborough-style. Joe and I were providing supplementary material à la ‘Twits TV’ and the Kingy Breakfast Specials. It was one of those rare moments – I’d had a few of them recently – where it felt like we were sixteen again, but even before Lily, before the bad stuff.
The next thing I knew, Joe was saying, ‘What did you say?’ to someone in a tone of voice that didn’t sound right, that didn’t sound like Joe. I turned around, to hear him say, again, ‘I asked you a question, mate: “What did you say?”’ in a more aggressive tone, and realized he was talking to the two boys who had made the honking noise, that he was practically spitting, he was so livid.
The boys looked about fourteen and had teeth too big for their mouths and skin that looked like they didn’t know what a vegetable was. ‘Noffin’,’ one said, ‘I didn’t say noffin’. What you on about?’ The other was looking a cross between gormless and shit-scared.
‘You said, move up, you spaz,’ said Joe, moving away from Ethan so he couldn’t hear. ‘You called that guy there, who happens to be my brother, a spaz. I heard you, with my own ears.’
‘Joe,’ I said, gently touching him on the arm. I looked back to check on Ethan. Thankfully, he was still having a tête à tête with Dolores and completely oblivious to what was going on.
‘No, it’s all right, Robbie,’ Joe said. ‘I’m dealing with this. I just want them to admit what they said.’
There was a bit of an audience gathered now. A group of girls watching as the two boys tried to slope away and Joe followed, shouting, ‘Oi! I’m not going to hit you or anything. I just want you to be man enough to admit what you’ve said and to apologize, since, in actual fact, my brother has Down’s syndrome.’ But the boys carried on walking. ‘And you look old enough to know better!’ Joe shouted after them.
One of them turned around. ‘Not as old as you, you dickhead!’ he shouted.
‘Yeah, and your brother’s a mong,’ the other joined in and, with that, they both ran off, doing their seal-like honking laughter.
‘Little fuckers,’ I heard Joe say under his breath. He looked furious but still, I thought he might leave it there. But no, he did not leave it there. He turned to me, sighed regretfully, as if to say,
I really don’t want to do this but I have to
, and then he ran after them, dodging dawdling families, parting groups of kids, past a load of buggies and a tantrum-ing toddler.