Someone to Watch Over Me (14 page)

The duty room was in order, so it wasn’t the tidying or finishing up of paperwork that had been bothering him. A medical record rested on the table and he picked it up to put it back in its place. No one could say that he left his work behind for the next shift. The file fell open and a piece of paper slipped out. He grabbed it as it fell and at the same time as he noticed the female handwriting he realized what he had forgotten; he didn’t need to read what was written there to remember it. He had forgotten to call a developmental therapist to speak to the poor young girl in Room
7
, as his colleague Svava on the evening shift had requested. He hurriedly dialled the internal number, but there was no answer. That was not a good sign. It was almost four o’clock and developmental therapists didn’t provide round-the-clock service. Damn it.

There was nothing for it but to pay the girl a visit and see whether he could do anything himself. As far as he knew, no doctor was expected until after his shift ended and in any case there was no guarantee that a doctor would be able to accomplish any more than he could. He would at least have to try to communicate with the girl so that he could mention this at the shift change later – if in fact there really was a problem. The note had mentioned a rapid heart rate and anxiety that might have been due to a nightmare, but it was necessary to find out whether something preventable was troubling the girl. It was extremely tricky to deal with patients who communicated with difficulty or not at all; only they could describe the majority of their symptoms, which made any diagnosis a thousand times more difficult than usual, if not impossible. This girl was the worst example of this problem that he had ever encountered, and the department was not properly equipped to handle these kinds of cases. So he couldn’t rely on previous experience to communicate with her, and he had to admit to himself that he’d spent as little time with her as he could get away with. There was something about her complete lack of mobility that disturbed him. He hoped for her sake that he was alone in feeling this way, but deep down he knew that this wasn’t the case.

Inside the room a faint beeping sounded from the EKG machine, which the girl had been hooked up to after the incident yesterday evening. The day’s readings had already been collected for the doctor, who would look in on her after dinner. Someone else would have to go over the information that was currently trickling out, but for the moment he was grateful for the monitor because the diligent needle that moved continuously across the paper showed that there was still life in the girl. There was hardly any other evidence to confirm this; her slender body lay virtually motionless beneath the blanket and you had to concentrate to notice the feeble movement of her chest, which barely moved when she breathed. The girl stared up at the ceiling and appeared not to have noticed his arrival, though he knew that she could hear perfectly well.

‘Hi, Ragna, how are you doing?’ He walked up to her and took her pale, bony hand. A needle had been inserted into a cannula in the back of it and he suspected that half the weight that now rested in his palm belonged to its pink plastic casing and the large bandage that held it in place. The bandage must have been bound round the cannula as automatic procedure, because there was no risk of the girl bumping her hand or knocking the needle against things that she touched. Her hand didn’t move unless it was moved. He stroked her hand carefully around the edge of the plastic, knowing that she had full feeling. What an awful, awful existence.

The girl’s eyes moved and she blinked. He leaned closer to her and smiled. ‘I have a confession to make: I forgot to ask for a therapist to come and speak to you today. But I promise I won’t forget again, and you can tell me off if he doesn’t come and see you tomorrow. First thing in the morning.’ He smiled again, overcome by how unreal she seemed. A life-size, living doll that couldn’t move. He continued to smile but now his smile was sad, even though it was meant to cheer her up. Of course, the girl couldn’t return the smile, and instead just stared at him with her big, frightened eyes. He wasn’t sure why he felt that her eyes were fearful; maybe because her gaze reminded him of a sick kitten that he’d once cradled in a feeble attempt to play veterinarian at the request of the middle-aged woman in the next-door apartment. She’d come to him because she knew that he worked at a hospital and asked him to take a look at the little scrap, which was sickly and hot. He had protested and explained that he knew nothing about animals, but to little avail. Still, it hadn’t been the opinion of his neighbour that had bothered him, but the eyes of the kitten, staring at him as its heart beat erratically in its tiny breast. The poor thing had realized that it depended entirely on the man who had it in his grasp; he could throw the creature down, crush it or cuddle it – as he did, of course. The girl was in the same situation; she was so helpless that her entire existence depended on others. If they didn’t nourish her, give her water, care, and everything else that a person needed, her days would be numbered. It must have been a terrible feeling, especially in a new place where she knew no one.

‘Are you expecting any visitors this evening? Your mother or father?’ They at least could make contact with the girl, even if most of the staff couldn’t do so. She blinked twice and he knew that meant no. They hadn’t been taught more than yes and no, any more than they’d been taught sign language when a deaf person was admitted.

‘I’ll let the evening shift know that they should ask you how you feel, whether you’re in any pain. Okay?’ She blinked once. ‘Are you in pain?’ She blinked twice but he was no nearer to knowing how she really felt. Her parents would have to get more information out of her, preferably about exactly what was wrong. He got goose bumps on his arms as once again he couldn’t help thinking about how it would feel to live only in your mind, your body a lifeless shell.

To prevent her from noticing how uncomfortable he suddenly felt in her presence, he quickly turned his back to her and pretended to be checking the IV drip. ‘Maybe you want to watch TV? There are movies until six on the hospital channel and I’m sure there’d be something you’d enjoy.’ He bent down to tilt her up in bed slightly, then fastened her securely beneath her arms with a specially designed harness, to prevent her from slipping back down. He pulled the television closer, turned it on and switched to the movie channel. On the screen appeared two American actors he recognized, although he didn’t know their names. He didn’t know which movie it was and could only hope she would like it. ‘There you are. My shift is almost finished, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’

He turned in the doorway to look back at her. Up until then he had avoided her gaze, and he was startled to see that she was now following him with her eyes and blinking at him over and over. ‘See you tomorrow.’ He went into the corridor, half ashamed for not going back in. She probably had something on her mind but he felt so uncomfortable in her presence that he didn’t trust himself to try to ask her what it was. What was left of his shift would be put to better use writing a note to her parents. They could speak to her and find out what was bothering her. Once he had decided on this, he felt a bit better.

How was he to know that no one ever visited her?

The drive to Sogn seemed as if it would never end. Conditions were awful – drifting snow and black ice – and it felt like her destination was getting ever more distant. The awkward atmosphere among the passengers didn’t help: Matthew drove, while Thóra made repeated attempts to carry on a conversation with Grímheiður, Jakob’s mother. Thóra felt that they should have her with them at this first formal meeting with Thóra’s client. The woman was quiet and seemed to be terrified in the back seat, holding the handle above the window with a death grip. She told Thóra weakly that she didn’t have a driving licence, which made her feel rather anxious when the road conditions were so bad. She added that this was the reason she so rarely came to visit Jakob during the winter, though even in the summer she had difficulty finding a lift. She didn’t have many friends and of course her relatives had their hands full with their own lives; it wasn’t really on to ask them to drive her all the way out to the countryside east of Reykjavík. It had been easier when Jakob had been in the community residence, even though she’d had to walk a considerable distance from the bus stop. She concluded this short speech by thanking Thóra sincerely for wanting to bring her along; it had been more than a month since her last visit. Thóra was silent after hearing this; the situation between Grímheiður and her son was sadder than she’d imagined. All the same, she hoped the woman didn’t have too high hopes that this would be a completely normal visit.

En route, Thóra asked her tactfully about her and Jakob’s relationship with the lawyer Ari Gunnarsson, and received the answer she’d expected, that it had been rather strained. They’d been incredibly unlucky with the choice of Jakob’s supervisor; Thóra had gone through all the files he’d given her and there was scarcely any sign that he’d looked at them. There was nothing scribbled in the margins, no page corners turned down, and considering how messy the man seemed to be, this was unlikely to stem from any inclination to keep the files neat and tidy. Grímheiður said that Ari didn’t have any understanding of Jakob’s condition and that he’d constantly expected things from Jakob that Jakob was incapable of: taking notes, reading over depositions and criticizing them, and so forth. He’d also been rather rude to both Jakob and his mother and didn’t seem to put much effort into the defence, though Grímheiður stressed that she knew nothing about these things and was in no way qualified to judge. Thóra pursued this by asking her how Ari had come to be chosen as Jakob’s attorney, to which Grímheiður replied that the man had called her the morning after Jakob had been found wandering around after the fire and the process to formally arrest him had begun. This process wasn’t easy, since Jakob was underage and numerous people had to be summoned, including his mother, as his guardian. She didn’t know where Ari had got her number, but she believed that the police or someone else involved in the arrest must have given it to him. She had no idea how such things worked and accepted the man’s offer to defend her son. At that point it simply hadn’t occurred to her that this was anything other than a mistake that would soon be fixed. When this had turned out not to be the case she hadn’t wanted to take the trouble to change lawyers – she’d even thought that it was too late, since they were going to try to speed up the case as much as possible.

Thóra remained silent throughout Grímheiður’s account, though she found it all rather odd. The fire had occurred on Saturday evening and the formal arrest was made the next morning. Lawyers weren’t in the habit of calling people and offering them their services, least of all on a Sunday morning. How had Ari heard about the case? She’d never heard of the police getting in touch with lawyers to give them unsolicited, insider tips about possible clients, which made her think Grímheiður’s explanation was unlikely. It was of course possible that in all the fuss surrounding Jakob’s developmental level and his legal position, unorthodox procedures had been followed, but Thóra was dubious about this theory. If anything, the authorities would have wanted to do everything by the book.

The wind had dropped and the snow had more or less stopped drifting by the time they finally drove up to the Psychiatric Secure Unit. The sun pushed its way up from the horizon and cast its merciless rays on the crust of snow. They shielded their eyes while waiting for a moment on the doorstep for someone to answer the entryphone. They made a great fuss about Matthew, since Thóra had neglected to inform them of his attendance. After a bit of wrangling he was allowed to accompany them as her assistant. They were also delayed by Grímheiður having come with two full plastic bags of groceries for her son. The old woman had to hand in everything that she had with her and the contents reminded Thóra of what a terrible cook she herself was. Out of the bags came a Mackintosh tin containing doughnuts, a mountainous stack of flatcakes, half a glazed ham wrapped in cling-film, rhubarb pie and all manner of other cakes and breads, all home-baked. The woman must have been up all night preparing it. The food was put back in the bags, which were then placed in a back room somewhere before they were finally taken to meet Jakob, in the same homely, worn-out sitting room where Thóra had met Jósteinn. She would have liked to use this trip to have a few words with him regarding the cost of the investigation, but she couldn’t help feeling that it would be better if he were otherwise engaged. She didn’t particularly want to see him again.

They sat down on the sofa and tried to make themselves comfortable, even though the seat was pretty saggy. Grímheiður chose to sit at one end of the sofa, clearly hoping that Jakob would be allowed to sit next to her, because she pulled a large easy chair over before sitting down. Thóra said nothing; the better mother and son felt, the more relaxed Jakob would be, and thus the greater the chance he would be persuaded to talk. By the time he finally appeared, accompanied by a staff member, his mother had rearranged the embroidered cushions at least four times in the seat that she intended for him. They gave each other a long hug before he plonked himself down in the chair. He hurriedly gathered the cushions one by one from underneath him and let them fall to the floor. Thóra and Matthew stayed quiet as his mother asked him how he felt, whether he was eating well and whether he always brushed his teeth for two minutes every morning and evening. He answered all of her questions in the same way: ‘I want to go home.’ In the end Grímheiður introduced Thóra and Matthew, to whom Jakob had paid no attention.

‘This is Thóra, Jakob. She’s a lawyer. Like Ari, but much better. She’s good, and maybe, just maybe, she can help us so that you get to come home.’

Jakob looked at them both in turn and frowned. He appeared to have slept badly, his hair was dishevelled and there were noticeable white marks at the corners of his mouth from saliva or toothpaste. His trousers were too short and his frayed sweater too large. Why wasn’t it possible to keep people properly presentable in these places? You could be sure that those who worked on disabled people’s issues wouldn’t go round in used or the wrong size clothing. ‘I want them to leave. I want to talk to you, Mummy. Just you. Why can’t you move here if I can’t go home?’ His sentences all ran together, as if he were pushed for time. Perhaps he thought the chances that his wish would be granted would increase if he spoke so fast that it would be difficult to distinguish the words.