Bleed for Me (2 page)

‘Good.’

‘Do you know why we’re here today?’

He nods.

‘Dr Naparstek and the people here think you’re better and it’s time you moved on. Is that what you want?’

Again he nods.

‘If you are released, where would you go?’

‘I’d find somewhere to live. G-g-get a job.’

Liam’s stutter is less pronounced than I remember. It gets worse when he’s anxious or angry.

‘You have no family?’

‘No.’

‘Most of your friends are in here.’

‘I’l m-m-make new friends.’

‘It’s been a while since I saw you last, Liam. Remind me again why you’re here.’

‘I did a bad thing, but I’m better now.’

There it is: an admission and an excuse in the same breath.

‘So why are you here?’

‘You sent me here.’

‘I must have had a reason.’

‘I had a per-per-personality disorder.’

‘What do you think that means?’

‘I hurt someone, but it weren’t my fault. I couldn’t help it.’ He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor.

‘You beat a girl up. You punched and kicked her. You crushed her spine. You broke her jaw. You fractured her skul . Her name was Zoe Hegarty. She was sixteen.’

Each fact resonates as though I’m clashing cymbals next to his ear, but nothing changes in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What are you sorry for?’

‘For what I d-d-did.’

‘And now you’ve changed?

He nods.

‘What have you done to change?’

He looks perplexed.

‘Hostility like that has to come from somewhere, Liam. What have you done to change?’

He begins talking about the therapy sessions and workshops that he’s done, the anger-management courses and social skil s training. Occasional y, he looks over his shoulder towards Dr Naparstek, but I ask him to concentrate on me.

‘Tel me about Zoe.’

‘What about her?’

‘What was she like?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Did you fancy her?’

Liam flinches. ‘It w-w-weren’t like that.’

‘You fol owed her home from the cinema. You dragged her off the street. You kicked her unconscious.’

‘I didn’t rape her.’

‘I didn’t say anything about raping her. Is that what you intended to do?’

Liam shakes his head, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. His eyes are focused on the far wal , as if watching some invisible drama being played out on a screen that nobody else can see.

‘You once told me that Zoe wore a mask. You said a lot of people wore masks and weren’t genuine. Do I wear a mask?’

‘No.’

‘What about Dr Naparstek?’

The mention of her name makes his skin flush.

‘N-n-no.’

‘How old are you now, Liam?’

‘Twenty-two.’

‘Tel me about your dreams.’

He blinks at me.

‘What do you dream about?’

‘Getting out of here. Starting a n-n-new life.’

‘Do you masturbate?’

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe that’s true, Liam.’

He shakes his head.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You shouldn’t talk about stuff like that.’

‘It’s very natural for a young man. When you masturbate who do you think about?’

‘Girls.’

‘There aren’t many girls around here. Most of the staff are men.’

‘G-g-girls in magazines.’

‘Dr Naparstek is a woman. How often do you get to see Dr Naparstek? Twice a week? Three times? Do you look forward to your sessions?’

‘She’s been good to me.’

‘How has she been good to you?’

‘She doesn’t judge me.’

‘Oh, come on, Liam, of course she judges you. That’s why she’s here. Do you ever have sexual fantasies about her?’

He bristles. Edgy. Uncomfortable.

‘You shouldn’t say things like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘About her.’

‘She’s a very attractive woman, Liam. I’m just admiring her.’

I look over his shoulder. Dr Naparstek doesn’t seem to appreciate the compliment. Her lips are pinched tightly and she’s toying with a pendant around her neck.

‘What do you prefer, Liam, winter or summer?’

‘Summer.’

‘Day or night?’

‘Night.’

‘Apples or oranges?’

‘Oranges.’

‘Coffee or tea?’

‘Tea.’

‘Women or men?’

‘Women.’

‘In skirts or trousers?’

‘Skirts.’

‘Long or short?’

‘Short.’

‘Stockings or tights?’

‘Stockings.’

‘What colour lipstick?’

‘Red.’

‘What colour eyes does she have?’

‘Blue.’

‘What is she wearing today?’

‘A skirt.’

‘What colour is her bra?’

‘Black.’

‘I didn’t mention a name, Liam. Who are you talking about?’

He stiffens, embarrassed, his face a beacon. I notice his left knee bouncing up and down in a reflex action.

‘Do you think Dr Naparstek is married?’ I ask.

‘I d-d-don’t know.’

‘Does she wear a wedding ring?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe she has a boyfriend at home. Do you think about what she does when she leaves this place? Where she goes? What her house looks like? What she wears to bed? Maybe she sleeps naked.’

Flecks of white spit are gathered in the corners of Liam’s mouth.

Dr Naparstek wants to stop the questioning, but the judge tel s her to sit down.

Liam tries to turn but I lean forward and put my hands on his shoulders, my mouth close to his ear. I can see the sweat wetting the roots of his hair and a fleck of shaving foam beneath his ear.

In a whisper, ‘You think about her al the time, don’t you, Liam? The smel of her skin, her shampoo, the delicate shel of her ear, the shadow in the hol ow between her breasts . . . every time you see her, you col ect more details so that you can fantasise about what you want to do to her.’

Liam’s skin has flushed and his breathing has gone ragged.

‘You fantasise about fol owing her home - just like you fol owed Zoe Hegarty. Dragging her off the street. Making her beg you to stop.’

The judge suddenly interrupts. ‘We can’t hear your questions, Professor. Please speak up.’

The spel is broken. Liam remembers to breathe.

‘My apologies,’ I say, glancing at the review panel. ‘I was just tel ing Liam that I might ask Dr Naparstek out to dinner.’

‘B-b-but y-y-you’re married.’

He noticed my wedding ring.

‘I’m separated. Maybe she’s available.’

Again, I lean forward, putting my cheek next to his.

‘I’l take her to dinner and then I’l take her home. I bet she’s a dynamite fuck, what do you think? The prim and proper ones, al cool and distant, they go off like chainsaws. Maybe you want to fantasise about that.’

Liam has forgotten to breathe again. His brain is sizzling in an angry-frantic way, screaming like a guitar solo.

‘Does that upset you, Liam? Why? Let’s face it, she’s not real y your type. She’s pretty. She’s educated. She’s successful. What would she want with a sad, sadistic fuck like you?’

Liam’s eyes jitter back and forth like a shot of adrenalin has punched straight into his brain. He launches himself out of his seat, taking me with him across the room. The world is flying backwards for a moment and his thumbs are in my eye-sockets and his hands squeezing my skul . I can barely hear a thing above my own heartbeat until the sound of heavy boots on the linoleum.

Liam is dragged off me, panting, ranting. Hospital guards have secured his arms, lifting him bodily, but he’s stil lashing out at me and screaming, tel ing me what he’s going to do.

The tribunal members have been evacuated or sought refuge in another room. I can stil hear Liam being wrestled down a distant corridor, kicking at the wal s and doors. Victoria Naparstek has gone with him, trying to calm him down.

My eyes are streaming and through closed lids I can see a kaleidoscope of coloured stars merging and exploding. Dragging myself to a chair, I pul out a handkerchief to wipe my cheeks. After a few minutes I can see clearly again.

Dusting off my jacket, I pick up my battered briefcase and make my way through the security stations and locked doors until I reach the parking area where my old Volvo estate looks embarrassingly drab. I’m about to unlock the door when Victoria Naparstek appears, moving unsteadily in high heels over the uneven tarmac.

‘What the hel was that? It was total y unprofessional. How dare you talk about what I wear to bed! How dare you talk about my underwear!’

‘I’m sorry if I offended you.’

‘You’re sorry! I could have you charged with misconduct. I should report you to the British Psychological Society.’

Her brown irises are on fire and her nostrils pinched.

‘I’m sorry if you feel that way. I simply wanted to see how Liam would react.’

‘No, you wanted to prove me wrong. Do you have something against Liam or against me?’

‘I don’t even know you.’

‘So it’s Liam you don’t like?’

The accusation clatters around my head and my left leg spasms. I feel as though it’s going to betray me and I’l do something embarrassing like kick her in the shins.

‘I don’t like or dislike Liam. I just wanted to make sure he’d changed.’

‘So you tricked him. You belittled him. You bul ied him.’ She narrows her eyes. ‘I’ve heard people talk about you, Professor O’Loughlin. They always use hushed tones. I had even hoped I might learn something from you today. Instead you bul ied my patient, insulted me and revealed yourself to be an arrogant, condescending, misogynistic prick.’

Not even her Scottish lilt can make this sound gay or carefree. Up close she is indeed a beautiful woman. I can see why a man might fixate upon her and ponder what she wears in bed and what sounds she makes in the throes of passion.

‘He’s devastated. Distraught. You’ve set back his rehabilitation by months.’

‘I make no apologies for that. Liam Baker has learned to mimic helpfulness and co-operation, to pretend to be better. He’s not ready to be released.’

‘With al due respect, Professor . . .’

Whenever anyone begins a sentence like this I brace myself for what’s coming.

‘. . . I’ve spent the past eighteen months working with Liam. You saw him half a dozen times before he was sentenced. I think I’m in a far better position to judge his progress than you are. I don’t know what you whispered to Liam, but it was completely unfair.’

‘Unfair to whom?’

‘To Liam and to me.’

‘I’m trying to be fair to Zoe Hegarty. You might not agree with me, Doctor, but I think I just did you an enormous favour.’

She scoffs. ‘I’ve been doing this job for ten years, Professor. I know when someone poses a danger to society.’

I interrupt her. ‘It’s not society I’m worried out. It’s far more personal than that.’

Dr Naparstek hesitates for a moment. I can almost picture her mind at work - her prefrontal cortex making the connections between Liam’s words, his stolen glances and his knowledge of her underwear and where she lives. Her eyes widen as the real - isation reaches her amygdala, the fear centre.

The Volvo starts first time, which makes it more reliable than my own body. As the boom gate rises, I catch a glimpse of the doctor stil standing in the car park staring after me.

The grounds of Shepparton Park School are bathed in the spring twilight with shadows folding between the trees. Most of the buildings are dark except for Mitford Hal , where the windows are brightly lit and young voices are raised.

I’m early to pick up Charlie. The rehearsals haven’t finished. Slipping through a side door, I hide in the darkness of the auditorium, gazing across rows of empty seats to the brightly lit stage.

School musicals and dance recitals are a rite of passage for every parent. Charlie’s first performance was eight years ago, a Christmas pageant in which she played a very loud cow.

Now she’s fourteen with bobbed hair and dressed in a twenties flapper dress, having been transformed into Miss Dorothy Brown, the best friend of
Thoroughly Modern Millie
.

I could never do it myself - tread the boards. My only theatrical appearance was aged five in a primary school production of
The Sound of Music
when I was cast as the youngest von Trapp child (normal y a girl, I know, but size rather than talent won me the part.) I was smal enough to be carried upstairs by the girl who played Liesl (Nicola Bray in year six) when the von Trapp children sang ‘So Long, Farewel ’. I was in love with Nicola and wanted her to carry me to bed every night. That was forty-four years ago. Some crushes don’t get crushed.

I recognise some of the cast, including Sienna Hegarty, who is in the chorus. She desperately wanted to play the lead role of Mil ie Dil mount, but Erin Lewis won the part to everyone’s surprise and Sienna had to settle for being her understudy.

As I watch her move about the stage, my mind goes back to the tribunal hearing and Liam Baker. There are little pictures and big pictures at play. The little everyday picture is that Sienna is my daughter’s best friend. The big picture is that her older sister is Zoe Hegarty, the girl in the wheelchair, who could once stand and dance and run, until Liam Baker’s

‘moment of madness’, which had been coming al his life.

The music stops and Mr El is, the drama teacher, vaults on to the stage, repositioning some of the dancers. Dressed in trainers and faded jeans, he’s handsome in a geekish sort of way. A fringe of dark brown hair fal s across his eyes and he casual y brushes it away.

The scene starts again - an argument between the play’s hero and heroine. Mil ie plans to marry her boss even though it’s obvious Jimmy loves her. The quarrel escalates and Jimmy grabs her, planting a clumsy kiss.

Erin pushes him away angrily, wiping her mouth. ‘I said no tongue.’

There are whistles and catcal s from backstage and the boy bows theatrical y, milking the laughter.

Mr El is leaps on to the stage again, annoyed at yet another interruption. He snaps at Sienna. ‘What are you grinning at?’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘How many times have I told you to come in on the third bar? You’re half a step behind everyone else. If you can’t get this right, I’l put you at the back. Permanently.’