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When a child fails to form an attachment with a caregiver, they fail to learn empathy. That’s how you build a sociopath.
“Was she a referral?” I asked, meaning someone who had come to the hospital through the legal system. Chi pursed his lips, then glanced to the left and the right before he answered. “Yes. Emily is a convicted murderer. She killed her baby during postnatal depression. When she came to us she was on suicide watch for a month.”
“Want to know a secret? I never killed that little girl.” And then she put her finger to her lips and breathed, “Shhhhh.”
It was a leaning, run-down old building with an outside toilet and a feral cat that growled from the bushes every time I walked to the door. On the day we moved in, Seb advised me to “chuck the little shit some tuna every once in a while and it’ll leave yer be,” so that was what I’d done during my first few days at the house.
“You nurses.” Chi lifted his shoulders. “What did I say?” “I think Isabel thinks we’re predictable. I said the same thing about healthy eating,” I explained. “I’m never predictable. Would a predictable nurse do this?” Chi dropped to the ground and leapt back up, spinning around in an elaborate dance move.
“What have you called the cat?” “Nothing yet. He’s wild, so…” “Call him…” She lifted her chin as though contemplating names. “Pye. P-Y-E.” “Where did you come up with that?” “It’s another name for a magpie. That way we both have a pet magpie.”
They… it isn’t a happy story. My father was an alcoholic, and he killed my mum before killing himself. That’s why we moved to Hutton. I was working in a different high-security hospital at the time, and I knew there was one here. I figured I’d be able to get a job here, so we moved.”
Your family are respected in the village.” It was more like an apprehensive fear, but I remained tactful. “Would you… Could you… maybe take him to school once or twice? It might act as a warning. Show the bastards that someone else is on his side.” Seb exhaled through his nose and half of his mouth lifted in a slight smile. “Sure. I’ll pick him up tomorrow morning. Is that it?”
“You’re rather sympathetic to murderers.” Alfie exhaled smoke and grinned at me. “Murderers are created,” I said. “There’s always a reason for what they do, if you look hard enough, if you dig deep enough.”
“Now, remember what I said. Just because Isabel is innocent doesn’t mean you get to prioritise her. Treat the others the same.”
It was Dr Ibbotson who had finally forced me to confront the truth, and I think I’ll always hate him for that, despite how it has helped me in the long run.
“This article says that my father was arrested after Mum died. It says that he was alive. But that’s not true. My father killed himself.”
“The first thing you need to know is: Tom isn’t just my brother. He’s also my son.”
Home has never been a familiar concept to me. My childhood house never truly felt like home because it was the place where my abuser lived.
“He’s my son and my brother. I was thirteen.” It’s miniscule, but it’s there—a ripple of anger spreads across his face, working its way from his clenched jaw to his throbbing temple. He takes a moment, a still, extended moment, and then he lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“No,” he says. “We didn’t. Leah, Isabel didn’t kill James Gorden. Owen Fielding did.” “What?” “We found his fingerprints all over the door handle on your kitchen door and three of his hairs on James Gorden’s head. We found his footprints in your garden.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” I whisper. This changes everything. I take a deep breath, trying to process what is happening. “I spent so long wondering how I could have got everything so wrong. If Isabel was guilty, why did I have such a connection with her? Why did I like her? How could I have come to care about a person who could murder another human being for fun? I know this doesn’t make everything right, but it means I wasn’t completely crazy. Doesn’t it?” “I don’t know what it means,” Seb replies. “But if you’re safer than you were yesterday, that’s a good result in my mind.”
When he reaches out and brushes a few fingers down my cheek, I begin to wonder if this is the true start of something real between us. It’s as though a barrier has been knocked away, and we’re free to finally meet each other for the first time. But it can wait.
“We make our own families.”
“What about all the time we spent together at Crowmont Hospital? What about then?” I ask, hoping to keep her talking as much as I can. “It was all an act.” “All of it?” She hesitates. “Yes.”
“I love you too, Dad. I wish I didn’t. I wish I hated you, but I don’t. Sometimes I hate you, but deep down I think I’ll always love the dad you once were, and could have been if you’d been a stronger man.”
