Where Women are Kings (32 page)

Doctor Phillips was not scared of anything. I could see in his eyes that stared straight at mine that he wasn’t scared of me, not like the nurse who kept one arm behind her back the whole time and the other nurse who looked at the door whenever he came into a room that I was in. It’s a terrible thing for people to be frightened of you, Elijah. It makes everything seem frightening.

‘How’s it going, Deborah?’ He had his long legs crossed in front of him and I could tell by his mismatched socks and scuffed-up shoes that he was not married. Either that or his wife was a lazy woman. I thought of Akpan, how his socks always matched. Funny the things you remember.

I smiled in as normal a way as possible. How could I tell him that I wanted to die? That they had taken you from me?

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’m much better, thank you. Can I see my son, Elijah, now, please?’

I held my breath, but the doctor’s face told me everything. He uncrossed his legs and sat up in his chair. There was a pile of notes on a small table beside him: my notes. I recognised my name, even though my eyes were blurred from the tablets, my head full of fog. The notes looked too big, bursting out of the folder.

‘Deborah, mental illness should be no different from physical illness. Think of it as a bad break in your arm. It will take doctors and medicine and perhaps a long time to treat, but
ultimately your arm will function as it did before. You will, in time, hopefully, be able to do all the things you did. But I have to tell you, Deborah …’ He sat forward and put his arm over mine. Was that the broken one? It didn’t feel broken. It felt fine. I moved it suddenly and opened and closed my hand. My hand felt bigger, giant almost, like another person’s hand. It made me smile suddenly, then wonder why I was smiling.

In Nigeria, it didn’t matter if you were mad with sadness or with evil spirits or with marijuana drug. Mad was mad. I would be in the Centre for Mentally Ill Destitutes, if I was lucky. Or, if not, walking on the intersection of the road with urine covering my legs, one shoe on, one shoe off.

‘Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Deborah? You have a serious condition. But not an untreatable one.’

‘Am I sick?’ I lifted my arm up and down. My arm was floating away from me.

‘Yes, Deborah. You’re very unwell. We think you have a serious condition which causes you to hear the voices. It makes you believe things that are not real.’

It panicked me, Elijah, that this stranger could think my thoughts. Did he know about the red car? About what was inside it?

‘The voices are real,’ I said. ‘I can hear them very clearly. I am not a lunatic. I am spiritually gifted. My husband told me that a long time ago.’ The fog lifted enough that I saw your face, Elijah, covered with blood, a bedroom full of drawn-on men, and Akpan’s black shoe. I sobbed.

‘We never use that word: lunatic. One in three people suffers mental ill-health at some point or other. And I know that in Nigeria things are very different. But here in the U.K. you will have access to proper treatment in this hospital and, when you’re stable, you’ll be able to be cared for in the
community. You’ve been suffering a long time, Deborah, and now we know what’s wrong we’ll be able to help you recover. The medicines we use are so effective, we hope it won’t take long at all to stabilise you.’

I looked around the room. If I was home in Nigeria, they wouldn’t have given me an official diagnosis of anything. I’d have been taken to the Centre for Mentally Ill Destitutes, where my sisters would have come in every day to wash me and refresh my hair. There, in that place, the only people who talked to me was the girl who would not eat and Miriam, who had taken so many drugs her eyes did not look in the same direction. The doctor had his eyebrows raised, waiting for me to speak.

‘Thank you, doctor,’ I said. But I did not believe him one little bit. It was not mental ill-health that caused the voices. I had a spiritual gift. It was the voice of evil, and sometimes of God. Akpan had told me himself. I had a gift that they were trying to destroy. I was under spiritual attack.

I thought of Uncle Pastor and everything we believed. This doctor was insane. But I could play a part, Elijah. I was a clever woman, even with my imbalance. And I knew, in order to get you back next to me, I’d do anything.

But I suddenly thought of something. If they gave me medicines to stop the voices, how would I protect you? How could I possibly protect my own son when I couldn’t hear the evil wizard talking to me? The wizard would surely kill you – take away my son forever. Had it worked? Had I driven out the wizard with the screwdriver? I would never know unless I heard those voices. The quiet voices, whispering. God’s voice. I suddenly knew what I needed to do.

I would have to be very careful. I would do everything they said in that prison. Eat the tablets. Talk. Tell Miriam
about her own country. Ignore the bird girl being held down flat. I would do anything to save you. Anything at all.

At night, I could hear the flat bird girl wait until the staff had held her down, and then rip and cough and drip her sour milk on the floor underneath her bed. After that, she pushed her fingers into her mouth and vomited into her pillowcase. She was not a skilled vomiter. The church women would have been able to vomit by merely thinking of it – no fingers required. They could teach her a thing or two. Rebekah would have fallen over with laughter.

‘Are you awake?’ Miriam was next to my bed. I could smell her unwashed armpits. I closed my eyes tightly and pretended. I was getting good at pretending. I thought of you every second. ‘Psst! Psst! Sister, are you awake?’

Suddenly she climbed into bed with me and pressed herself against my body. I sat up and moved away. ‘Get out!’ I whispered. ‘What are you doing?’

But then I saw that her face was full of tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I just can’t sleep. I can’t. I really need to take my medicine. On the street, I mean; the medicine helps me. This shit here doesn’t help. They’re killing me.’

I looked at the door. I thought of calling a nurse, but something in Miriam’s face stopped me. I noticed for the first time how young she was. How broken.

‘What’s wrong? What do you want me to do about it? Go back to bed, silly girl. Go back.’

She shook her head so fast. ‘I can’t. They’re killing me. Let me sleep with you. Please. I know I’ll die if I stay alone. I need my medicine.’ She had scratched off lines of her skin and bled tiny droplets on to the white sheets.

‘I have enough problems,’ I said. ‘Go back to bed.’ I didn’t tell her about you. I didn’t speak about it to any of the other
women. I didn’t want your name in their mouths.

But something stopped me from pushing Miriam out of the bed, Elijah. Maybe it was the way she looked so frightened. Or maybe it was the way I was so frightened. Either way, she slept in my bed that night and every night after that. When the nurses had done their twelve o’clock checks, she’d sneak across the room and climb in, and I’d move over, allowing in the smell of unwashed armpits and terrible breath. And a few nights after that, the bird girl climbed in bed with us both, lying next to me, so tiny and fragile I didn’t dare move in case I crushed her. We twisted and turned, us three. We were not a soup full of sisters, but still, for a short time, we were not quite so alone.

Even though things were getting better, it was hard not to watch Elijah, to study him and his behaviour, over-analyse everything. Nikki had to force her eyes to look away, to make them focus on the clock, or the window.

And Elijah would look up with sad, kind eyes. When Daddy and Jasmin and Chanel were there it was better and felt almost back to normal, but when it was just the three of them it was still too quiet. Obi was making a real effort, but a couple of nights she had woken to find the bed next to her empty, Obi poring over his papers in the kitchen. Once, he had even pretended not to hear her when she told him to come back to bed. And Elijah had changed too much. Nikki began to panic. She’d kept her emotions in check so far, but now they were spiralling away from her.

‘I’m going over to Chanel’s, but I won’t be long. Shall we play a game later?’ she said to them both, father and son sitting side by side, yet not close. ‘How about Guess Who?’

‘Yes, please,’ whispered Elijah. His voice was so small. He looked at Nikki’s tummy and back up at her eyes. She wanted to scoop him up and whisper into his ear that she loved him, but he seemed far away. His quietness scared her.

Nikki walked out; Chanel was waiting for her.

‘Where’s Jasmin?’

‘She has a play date. Come on.’

Chanel was wearing a pair of pyjamas that had a picture of a cherry on the front and lettering underneath, which said,
Bite Me
. Nikki smiled, despite herself. She followed Chanel up to her flat, where they sat next to each other on the couch.

‘How’s it going?’

Nikki opened her mouth to talk, but all that came out was a giant sob. Chanel moved quickly towards her, put her arms around Nikki and held her. She let her cry and cry. Chanel smelt of cigarettes. ‘What now, love? What now?’

‘I feel like a cigarette,’ said Nikki, unravelling herself from Chanel.

‘What! Miss Goody Two-Shoes? You’ve never smoked in your life!’ She laughed. ‘And I don’t think now is the right time to start …’ Chanel pointed to Nikki’s tummy.

‘It won’t matter, anyway,’ sobbed Nikki. ‘I’ll probably still lose the baby, like I lost all the others.’

Chanel held her so tightly she could barely breathe. ‘There, come on, now. You let it all out.’

Nikki leant back. ‘I mean, nothing is the same. Nothing. Obi is worried all the time and he was always so sure of everything. If Obi’s not sure, then I just don’t feel safe. He’s not even reading his books any more. And Elijah is so sad-looking, so worried and quiet.’

Chanel nodded.

‘What he’s been through, Chanel, he might never recover fully. We might never make him happy. I feel such a failure – to Obi, to the baby, to Elijah. How can I call myself a mum?’

Chanel snorted, and put her hand up to her mouth.

Nikki stopped crying. ‘Are you … Are you laughing at me? Really? Are you laughing? Because, if you think this is funny …’

Chanel stopped laughing. ‘Always, “Poor Nikki”. Poor Nikki this; poor Nikki that. I’m sick of it.’

Nikki sat up. She started to stand, ‘I’ll go then, shall I?’

Chanel pushed her back down on the couch. ‘Sit yourself down. Listen for once.’

Nikki sat down and looked at Chanel.

‘You are the best mum I know,’ she said. ‘Jasmin would give anything to have a mum like you. The best. Any child would be lucky to have you, but Elijah wasn’t just lucky. He needed you. Now, I don’t believe in God and all that bollocks, but I’m telling you that the only mum I know who could love him as much as you do, is you. And I know how much you love him every time I mention his name. The way you look at him … I wish, I wish for a second that I could look at Jas that way. And she wishes it too. And this baby will be born and this baby will be fine. I just know it. So get a grip. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve got everything you ever wanted, and so what if there was a blip? You’re a lucky cow.’

Nikki’s mouth dropped open. She had no words to answer Chanel. None at all. She sat still for a few minutes.

Chanel moved closer to Nikki and put her arms around her. She stroked her hair. ‘And, as for Obi, Obi loves going into battle, but this is new territory for him, and for all of us. But you all love each other and you all want this baby. It will be fine in the end, you wait and see.’

Nikki closed her eyes, let Chanel hold her.

Chanel whispered in her ear. ‘You won’t lose this one. You’re seven months gone already. You won’t lose this one. I promise.’ She moved her head away and took a big breath. ‘The doctors know what they’re doing now.’

‘Do you really think so?’ asked Nikki.

‘I know so; yes, there’s a lot at stake, but I don’t believe you
can’t cope. Look at how you’ve got through what happened. Thousands would have given up, but not you and Obi. And not Elijah. He’s strong too, you know? Do you remember when we were little, and you fell off the top of that climbing frame?’

Nikki nodded. She was still taking in Chanel’s words. ‘It frightened the dinner ladies to death,’ she murmured.

‘God, it was so high. And you literally landed on your head. I remember it like it was yesterday. And you just stood up, without a single tear in your eye, turned around, lifted your nose in the air and climbed right back up again.’

Nikki remembered. It had been a cold day, and the bars of the climbing frame had made her fingers numb.

‘I was standing right next to the dinner lady who watched you fall and then get up. She looked at you and spoke to the other ladies. “She’s made of really strong stuff. Won’t let anything beat her, that girl.”’ Chanel kissed Nikki’s cheek. ‘Go home,’ she whispered. ‘Be a mum. Be happy.’

*

The next few days, Nikki heard Chanel’s words wherever she went. She even dreamed them. Chanel was right, of course. Her sister was often wrong, but she was right about the important things, especially how much Nikki loved Elijah. She let herself begin to feel lucky again, to be his mum, to be a family. She felt more confident.

‘Elijah, stop pinching your nose,’ Nikki whispered. ‘It will get very sore.’ He had started doing that again. He was very quiet and he kept closing his eyes like he was far away.

‘OK, Mum.’

She kissed his head. ‘You really miss your mama, don’t you?’ she said.

Elijah looked straight at her eyes. He didn’t move a muscle
but his eyes filled up with tears. He looked surprised.

‘It’s OK to talk about her, you know. You used to talk about her sometimes. You can talk about anything with me or Dad, because we’re your parents forever. And our job is to keep you safe, always.’

Elijah smiled. He dropped his hand into hers. They were in the living room with Obi and it was late afternoon. Ricardo had phoned and arranged a meeting for the next day. Elijah had been nose pinching, but it seemed to be getting slightly better, though he sat unusually still most of the time.