The Truth About Celia Frost (21 page)

“No,” Celia said in a daze.

“Are you sure?” Janice asked anxiously.

“Yes.”

Janice struggled to her feet and gently led the stunned girl back into the bathroom. “Let me cover up your cuts,” she said, cleaning the blood away and smoothing plasters over the
scraped skin. Janice took a pair of gloves from her supplies and put them on Celia’s limp hands.

The woman’s face crumpled in despair. “I can’t go on like this. Everything’s out of control. I shouldn’t have let it get to this.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Celia stared desolately at her gloved hands.

“You have a virus. You can infect people with your blood.”

“But you must have taken me to hospital. What did they say? Why haven’t I been getting treatment for it?”

“Hospital was the last place I could take you. I’ve never let doctors near you. If they started testing you, they’d take you off me – I wouldn’t know who’d
get hold of you. You wouldn’t have been safe.”

“But then how do you know I’ve got it? Was I born with it? Is it a genetic thing; did you give it to me?”

“Even if it was genetic I couldn’t have given it to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Celia, I’m not your mother.”

Celia’s face was paralysed in a bewildered grimace. Janice reached for her but she pulled away, bolting into the living room. Her eyes scanned all the photos on the wall. She’d known
that there were no baby pictures. Janice had told her that all her baby mementos had been lost in one of their many moves. But hadn’t Janice always been more than happy to recount
Celia’s birth: the quick, straightforward labour, how Celia popped out bearing a shock of orange hair? That, despite the stress of finding out about Celia’s blood clotting disorder, she
knew that, together, the two of them could deal with it.

“Am I adopted?” Celia asked, staring at the photos.

“Celia...I’m your mother in every other sense of the word,” Janice said pleadingly.

“Just answer the question.” Celia turned to face her. “Did you adopt me?”

“No.” Janice looked her straight in the eye. “I had to take you!”

“What are you talking about?” Celia threw her arms out. “Where did you take me from? Did you kidnap me?! Oh my God! You did, didn’t you? You took me from my real
parents!” She lunged at Janice, seizing her brittle arms, aggression suddenly welling up in her. “Have they been looking for me all these years? Do they think I’m dead?
You’ve put me through this crappy life with you, telling me a pack of lies instead of getting me help, when all the time I could have been with my real parents. They would have let doctors
sort me out, found a cure for my blood. What kind of twisted freak are you?” Celia’s voice was piercing, hysteria taking control.

Janice grappled her way loose and, without warning, slapped Celia hard across the cheek. Celia’s arms dropped down in shock, the imprint of Janice’s palm visible on her burning
cheek.

“I didn’t take you from your parents. I took you from a clinic. You were being used like a lab rat. I saved you! They were going to murder you!” Janice’s voice was steady
and strong.

Celia slumped onto the sofa, her mind in overload. “Please stop these lies,” she wailed, putting her hands over her ears.

“Celia, I had to lie about the blood clotting. I had to think of an illness that would make people careful around you and make sure you never took any risks. I thought it was better for
everyone to think that you were only a danger to yourself. I couldn’t let them know that your blood could kill them.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

“How would you have coped? Even when you discovered I’d been lying about the blood clotting, I reckoned it was better that you thought I was mad than have to live with the truth. But
I was wrong, because once you believed you had nothing to fear, you’ve been more dangerous than ever.”

“So all these years, you’ve let me wander around putting people in danger.”

“What was I meant to do? I saved you. I couldn’t keep you a prisoner. I had to give you some freedom, some kind of life. I’ve tried my best to keep you safe – every day
feeling sick until you were safely back home; every day living in terror that you might infect someone.”

“But who did this to me? What is this virus in me?” Celia whispered in self-disgust.

Janice’s eyes brimmed with anguish as she sat down next to Celia. “I only ever wanted to keep you safe, protect you from the truth, but I can’t do that any
more. You’re going to have to be strong, Celia. Listen and be strong.

“I was twenty-two and I’d been drifting around since I left care. All I’d managed to achieve was a four-month stretch in a young offender institution because I kept
shoplifting. I was a mess. No one to look out for me, no place I belonged. I kept moving around the country, doing any rubbish job I could. When I’d saved up some money, I’d just get on
a bus to another place, hoping it would be better than the last.

“Then one time, just for the hell of it, I got off at this tiny village in the countryside. I got talking to a girl in a cafe. She’d been working as a cleaner at a clinic on the
moors, miles from anywhere. She told me that it was a specialist place for sick babies. She was leaving because it was so depressing and the cleaning was too much for one person. I told her I
wouldn’t mind working there – after all, I wasn’t one for mixing, I didn’t mind hard work, and I’d spent my entire life in depressing places, so I was used to it. She
put in a word for me and the next minute I had the job. Cash in hand, no questions asked. I didn’t even give them my real name – I never did; always paranoid that people would check up
on me, find out about my record.

“I rented a room in the village and every day I’d get the bus out to work. It passed right by the driveway, but there was no sign outside, nothing to tell people what lay up that
long, steep path. Security was tight at the clinic, CCTV all around the outside and codes to get into the rooms, which they changed every day. I was impressed. It made sense – they needed to
be careful when they were looking after sick babies. From the outside, the place was an ugly-looking prefab building, windowless except for skylights in the roof, but inside it was spotless, with
state-of-the-art equipment. There was a room for you babies, an office, and a small operating theatre with a little bedroom next door. Then there was a lab where they’d take blood samples and
God knows what to test. I wasn’t allowed in there. The doctor insisted on cleaning it herself.

“I only ever saw three staff. They didn’t tell me their names and I didn’t ask. I was told to address her as ‘Doctor’ and the other two women as
‘Nurse’. As soon as I arrived they had me in all this protective clothing, covered from head to toe. They said it was to help prevent any infection being brought in that could harm the
babies. The whole atmosphere in there was draining and there was a constant noise from the generator which made my head throb. No one bothered to talk to me. The staff were forever checking you
babies, writing up charts, adjusting all this equipment that surrounded each cot. It was all way above my head. But I tell you, I’d never worked so hard in my life – scrubbing,
disinfecting, sterilizing the rooms. And no sooner had I finished than I’d have to start all over again. When I got back to the village each evening I just used to collapse, I was so
knackered.

“I soon realized that the girl had been right, the place was depressing. When I first arrived, there were eight babies. I didn’t know anything about babies – I guessed some
were as young as a few weeks, others a few months older – but they all looked so weak, like they were struggling to stay alive. Sometimes that room would be filled with their pathetic cries;
it cut right through me.

“Each one of you was hooked up to a drip. It was horrible seeing all your little arms covered in pinpricks, but I just kept telling myself that you were all lucky to be getting such
special care. But it didn’t take me long to notice that none of you were ever picked up unless you were being examined. No one cuddled or even talked to you. Day after day, the babies just
lay in their perspex cots, covered by these plastic tents, sealed in like they were buried alive. But you – you, Celia – you weren’t having any of it!

“You were older than the rest. I’d say about a year. You were always trying to climb out of your cot, jumping up and down on the mattress, trying to pull your drips out. You’d
bang your little fists against the plastic tent, squealing to get out. Once or twice I saw the nurse give you an injection; it must have been a sedative, because straight away you’d be out
for the count. It wasn’t fair. I used to watch you and long to give you a cuddle. You made me laugh; this strange, spindly-looking thing with tufts of tangerine hair. You had massive round
eyes and a big mouth. I used to wonder how you’d ever grow into your features.

“I’d spend as long as possible cleaning around your cot, just so I could talk to you. You’d give the most enormous gummy smile and gabble a load of gibberish at me. I loved
being around you. I couldn’t believe how bright and smiley you were and when the staff weren’t looking I’d pull funny faces to make you laugh and have a quick game of peek-a-boo
– anything to make you happy. But one time, one of those nurses spotted me and I got a lecture. She said that I was ‘endangering your health’; that you babies were too sick to
cope with any stimulation. But then I started asking questions and she didn’t like it. I wanted to know why you kids never had any visitors and what were your names; why there were only
barcodes on the charts at the end of your cots, as if you were something in a shop? Secretly, I’d started calling you Celia. It just felt right to name you after the only person who’d
ever shown me love. Anyway, that nurse told me it was all because of patient confidentiality and although someone like me couldn’t be expected to understand, I should just accept that
everything being done was in the best interests of the babies. Then she warned me; she said that if I felt it necessary to keep asking questions then maybe this wasn’t the right job for me.
So I stopped asking, but kept watching and listening. I was good at being invisible; the kind of person others would forget was even in the room. That suited me fine.

“But as the weeks passed, those babies began to look sicker rather than better, until even the crying stopped and they would just lie there, dead-eyed. I watched as their skin turned grey,
their cheeks sank and their eyes hollowed. Despite all the liquid being pumped into them, they were all losing weight. Soon most looked like shrivelled old men. I’d come to work and one by
one they’d be gone, until eventually only two of you were left. It was so upsetting, I had to ask what had happened. I was told that the parents had been with the undertakers and collected
the bodies. The nurse said that the high death rate was normal with such sick children, that their chances of survival had always been low. But this only made me more upset. I convinced myself that
you were going to end up like the other babies.

“But it was the doctor who reassured me. I was fascinated by her. I never saw her go home – I’m not even sure she had a home, I think she slept in the clinic at night. She
didn’t have time for small talk either. She worked so hard, always shifting between the lab and the babies’ room; monitoring, examining, putting up new drips, taking blood samples. Most
of the time she looked exhausted, as though she’d been awake all night. I was in awe of her, to tell you the truth. I’d never met anyone so clever, so dedicated.

“I didn’t even think that she’d noticed me, but one day she saw me chatting to you. When I realized she was there, I thought I was going to get another telling-off, but I
didn’t. She just said to me, ‘It’s best not to get attached to them, you know. It’s easier that way.’

“I forgot myself, I was so annoyed. I snapped at her, ‘Easier for who? Even if they do die, isn’t it better that they were shown a bit of love?’

“‘It’s Clare, isn’t it?’ she said.

“‘Yes,’ I lied.

“‘Well, Clare,’ she said. ‘You must just trust me. I know it’s distressing when they die, but the challenge is to keep focused, keep strong. When I feel down, I
look at this little one.’ She pointed at you. ‘I have great hopes for her. She’s a survivor.’ I tell you what, she said it with such feeling that I believed her.

“Then, early one morning, I looked out my window and saw there was a storm brewing. I thought about not going in. I felt knackered and I didn’t fancy catching the bus into the wilds
and trudging up that endless driveway. But then I thought about you and knew that I had to see you. I couldn’t let you go a whole day and night without anyone talking to you. So I got wrapped
up and went for the bus.

“As soon as I walked in I knew there was something wrong. There was a terrible tension about the place. Something had happened overnight. The other baby was gone and you’d been moved
out of the room. When I asked the doctor what was going on, she seemed anxious, flustered. She just said that I should go home; that I wasn’t needed today. She went into the office and came
back with a wad of money. She thrust it into my hand. It was loads more than I was owed, but she didn’t care – she just wanted me out of there. She told me that I’d be contacted
when I was needed again.