Claiming Noah Page 11

  Catriona hung up the phone and stared at the receiver. She had expected a different conversation. But with her psychiatrist’s advice running through her mind she forced herself to take a deep breath and walk out of her bedroom and into the recreation room so she could distract herself and stop dwelling over things that upset her.

  The recreation room was busy, but there was a spare chair at a table where a young woman wearing a threadbare black band T-shirt over a long-sleeved top was placing cards face-down in the shape of a circle.

  Catriona sat opposite her and pointed at the cards. ‘Clockwork patience. My grandma taught me that when I was little.’

  The woman looked up at Catriona. ‘Me too, but I’m rubbish at it. I haven’t got it out once yet.’ She tucked her short brown hair behind her ears and smiled. Catriona noticed she had a small gap between her two front teeth. ‘Do you know how to play gin rummy? That’s a lot more fun.’

  ‘I do. But it’s been years since I’ve played.’

  The woman shuffled and then dealt cards to each of them.

  ‘So, are you bipolar as well?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I have puerperal psychosis.’ That was the first time the words had left Catriona’s mouth. It sounded so extreme. But the woman only nodded.

  ‘It’s rare for you to get that if you’re not already bipolar. I don’t have kids, but there’s about a fifty per cent chance that I’ll get it when I do. Really makes you think twice about it.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Yeah, they’re similar disorders in a lot of ways. I bet we’re getting the same treatment. Antipsychotics, antidepressants and ECT?’

  Catriona nodded. ‘Yep, that’s right.’

  ‘How are you finding the ECT?’

  ‘Horrible. It’s like waking up after a huge night out with a massive hangover and no memory of what I’ve been doing.’

  The woman laughed. ‘Exactly. But without the fun drinking part.’

  ‘And no McDonald’s wrappers in my handbag,’ Catriona said.

  The woman stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Lana.’

  ‘Catriona.’

  A commotion broke out from the ping-pong table in the corner of the room, with two male patients arguing loudly about whether an elbow on the table forfeited the point. Their voices got louder and louder until a nurse appeared, separated the pair and confiscated the paddles and ball.

  Catriona shook her head and returned to her cards. ‘I can’t get used to it in here. Have you been here long?’

  ‘No, I just got moved here this afternoon from the public hospital,’ Lana said as she picked up a card and put it straight back down on the discard pile. ‘I’m in room three-eleven.’

  ‘That’s next to me. I’m in three-twelve.’

  ‘Ah, we’re neighbours. That’s good.’

  Catriona studied Lana over the top of her hand of cards. She didn’t seem like she belonged in a psychiatric hospital. She was only young, early twenties perhaps, and she seemed perfectly calm and sane. Catriona hoped that’s what people thought of her as well.

  ‘Did they tell you the antipsychotics make you fat?’ Lana asked.

  ‘No,’ Catriona said. ‘I don’t think so.’ Although it was very likely they had; she remembered only small snippets from the day she was admitted and prescribed the antipsychotics. Her psychiatrist could have spent hours explaining the side effects to her and she wouldn’t have remembered.

  ‘Well, they do,’ Lana said. ‘It took me three months to lose the weight after the last time I was here.’

  ‘You’ve been here more than once?’

  ‘Fourth time. I deserve a badge or something. Gin rummy.’

  Catriona looked down at the cards in her hand. She wasn’t even close.

  • • •

  After a week in the clinic, Catriona started to attend cognitive behavioural therapy. Doctor Winder explained that the group sessions were a useful way for her to learn how to help herself when faced with stressful or emotional situations.

  Catriona had never been fond of group activities. She had never wanted to join Brownies when she was young, or be part of the various social clubs and committees while she was at university. But when Lana offered to attend the session with her for moral support, she reluctantly agreed.

  The therapy session was held in a small room off the recreation room, devoid of anything other than a whiteboard and a series of small, plastic chairs arranged in a circle. Lana directed Catriona to one of the chairs and sat next to her.

  A man standing at the front of the room announced himself as the counsellor who would lead the session. He moved around the circle one by one, asking the patients to bring up anything that was bothering them so they could discuss it. Eventually, it was Catriona’s turn.

  ‘Has anything been bothering you, Catriona?’ the counsellor asked after she introduced herself to him.

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘There must be something. How about your family? How was the interaction with them when they came to visit you?’

  Good guess. Catriona looked at Lana, who smiled back at her. Had Lana told the counsellor to bring that up with her?

  ‘It was hard,’ she said. ‘Different to how I thought it would be.’

  ‘How was it different?’

  ‘I thought because I was starting to feel a bit more . . . you know, normal—’

  ‘We try not to use the word normal in these sessions,’ the counsellor said. ‘Normal is a subjective word.’

  ‘Of course,’ Catriona said. ‘Sorry. Because I was feeling more . . . calm?’

  The counsellor nodded.

  ‘Well, I thought it would be different between Sebastian – my son – and me. I thought it would be better.’

  ‘Did you think the problems with your son would disappear straightaway, as soon as you started to feel more like yourself again?’ the counsellor asked her gently.

  Catriona stared at her hands, twisted together in her lap. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Let me ask you this: what do you do for work?’

  ‘I’m in marketing.’

  ‘Right. So, I imagine that’s quite stressful at times?’

  Catriona nodded.

  ‘What type of problems do you have to deal with at work?’

  ‘How much time have you got?’

  ‘Just list a few of them for me.’

  Catriona listed them on her fingers. ‘Unhappy clients, unrealistic deadlines, problem staff.’

  ‘Great,’ the counsellor said. ‘And when you’re faced with those problems, how do you approach them?’

  ‘I’d normally talk to the people concerned; try to negotiate a better outcome with them.’

  ‘Would you expect the outcome to improve immediately?’

  Catriona smiled. ‘No, not at all. I’d have to manage it for a while, quite a long time sometimes, but usually the problem gets resolved eventually.’

  ‘Right. So, you’re proactive with issues. You apply logic and patience until things improve.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The counsellor smiled.

  10

  DIANA

  Tuesday, 8 May 2012

  ‘My baby, I’ve lost my baby!’

  Diana ran back into the shopping centre, her eyes wild and her heart beating at such a rapid pace she could barely draw breath. The only coherent thought that came to her was that maybe Noah had fallen out of the pram as she walked through the centre. Maybe he was lying where he’d fallen, waiting for her. Maybe a kind stranger had picked him up and was waiting for her to return. Maybe someone from centre security had him and was calling her over the loudspeaker to come and collect him. Maybe.

  She tried to retrace her steps, but she was so frazzled she couldn’t remember where she had been. She remembered being in the supermarket, but had she gone to the car after that or had she gone to other shops? When had she last checked on him? In the supermarket? While she was still with her mother? She couldn’t remember.


  She grabbed on to the arms of strangers as they walked past her. ‘Have you seen my baby?’ They looked at her in alarm, shook their heads and kept walking.

  An older woman wheeling a shopping cart stopped in response to Diana’s plea. She took her hand and asked her to explain what had happened so she could help.

  ‘I think you need to to speak to someone who works in the centre,’ she said once Diana had managed to explain that her son was missing. ‘At one of those information places. If he’s fallen out of the pram and someone picked him up that’s the first place they’d take him. I’ll go with you.’

  She led Diana to an information kiosk a few hundred metres away. It was one of those places where parents could rent a frog or a fire engine for their child to ride in to keep them entertained while the parents shopped. Diana couldn’t bear to look at them.

  The woman caught the attention of the bored-looking man standing behind the kiosk desk. He was wearing a name badge that said Kenny. ‘Excuse me. We have an emergency here. This lady has lost her baby. Have you heard anything about a lost baby?’

  Kenny sighed at the interruption to his day and pushed a notepad and pen over to Diana. ‘Please write down the child’s name and a description of what they were wearing. We’ll put a message over the loudspeaker.’

  When he saw the terrified look on Diana’s face he added, ‘Ma’am, it will be okay. When kids run away they usually end up at the playground or in the toy stores. Have you checked there?’

  ‘No he’s . . . he hasn’t run away. He’s a baby. He’s only two months old. I don’t know where he is.’

  Confusion came over his face. ‘What do you mean? Did you leave him somewhere? Is he in a pram?’

  ‘No, I have the pram.’ Diana looked behind her and noticed the pram wasn’t with her. ‘Well, I did have it, I mean. It’s by my car, I think. He wasn’t in it.’

  ‘He wasn’t in it?’ Kenny repeated. ‘What do you mean? Did he get out of it?’

  ‘No, he couldn’t have, he’s only two months old.’

  ‘Ma’am, I don’t really understand what you’re saying. Did someone take him?’

  ‘No!’ Diana shook her head vehemently. ‘Of course not, I was with him the whole time. Nobody took him. He’s fallen out of the pram, I’m sure of it. I didn’t strap him in properly.’

  Kenny stared at her for a few seconds and then lifted the flap to the kiosk and indicated to Diana that she should come inside and sit down.

  The woman squeezed her arm. ‘They’ll find him, dear, don’t worry. I’ve lost my own kids plenty of times. He’ll be just fine.’

  Diana walked into the kiosk and sat on the plastic chair Kenny pulled out for her just in time as her legs wobbled and started to give way.

  ‘What do I do?’ she asked as Kenny closed the flap behind her. ‘Shouldn’t I be out looking for him? I know I went to the supermarket, maybe he’s there, somewhere . . .’

  ‘I’m going to call the police, ma’am,’ he said, his tone gentler now. ‘I need to report this and then they’ll come and ask you questions so they can help you find your baby.’

  ‘But he’s out there, I just need to go look for him.’ She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t support her weight and she sank back on to the chair. ‘He was with me the whole time, nobody took him. I mustn’t have strapped him in properly. Please let me go, he’s probably just lying on the floor somewhere, I have to find him. He’ll be hungry, he needs me.’

  Kenny looked down at Diana sitting huddled on the chair. The desperation and fear radiating from her was palpable; her body was shaking as if she were standing in the snow in the middle of winter wearing only her underwear.

  ‘Ma’am, you’re in no state to get up at the moment.’ He gestured to a teenage girl walking towards them. Like Kenny, she wore a name badge. ‘Jade’s back from her break now. She can go look around the centre for you and see if anyone’s picked up your son. Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you so much.’

  Kenny left the kiosk and spoke to Jade in a hushed conversation that Diana couldn’t hear. Jade looked over at her with what seemed like suspicion a few times, but then the expression on her face turned to one of sympathy.

  Kenny walked back over to Diana. ‘Where did you say you left the pram?’

  ‘By my car, I think.’ She stopped and thought about it. ‘Yes, definitely by the car. I’d put the shopping bags into the boot and went to put Noah in the car and that’s when I saw he wasn’t in the pram.’

  ‘And what type of car is it? Where’s it parked?’

  ‘It’s a blue Mazda. I don’t remember where I parked it.’ She paused while she tried to think of a landmark in the shopping centre. ‘I came into the centre by a florist maybe?’

  Kenny relayed the information to Jade and she walked off in the direction of the car park. ‘Jade’s going to take a look for your son and get your pram. I’ll call the police now, just in case, and either way we’ll have him back to you soon, I promise.’

  ‘Please God,’ Diana prayed while Kenny spoke to the police. ‘Please let me find my baby. Please God.’

  As she sat waiting for Jade to return, Diana tried again to remember when she had last checked on Noah. She remembered he had been sleeping most of the day. She knew he had been in his pram when her mother left, because she remembered her kissing Noah goodbye. Had she checked on him again after that? Yes, she was sure she had. That nosy woman in the supermarket had wanted to look at him. But she hadn’t let her, had she? What did that mean? Was Noah in the pram while she was in the supermarket? Surely he was. But she hadn’t let go of the pram, had she? She was driving herself mad, nothing made sense. Women don’t just lose their babies.

  Jade returned ten minutes later, pushing Diana’s pram.

  ‘You found him!’ Diana jumped out of the seat, opened the flap to the kiosk and ran over to her.

  ‘No, ma’am, I’m sorry, I didn’t. This is just the pram.’

  Diana sank to the floor. She felt as if someone had taken to her heart with a hammer. Her son, she had lost her son. She had lost the most precious thing in her life, a baby who was dependent on her for his survival. Jade and Kenny tried to help her off the floor, but she was a dead weight and didn’t have the strength or the motivation to stand up. She barely registered the stares people gave her as they walked past.

  ‘Ma’am,’ Kenny said, as he crouched down on his haunches so his eyes were level with hers. ‘Is there anyone you want me to call for you before the police get here? Your husband?’

  ‘My husband,’ Diana repeated, her tone flat and her stare blank. ‘Yes. He needs to know.’

  ‘Can I have the number?’ Kenny handed her a notepad and pen.

  She tried to write down Liam’s phone number but she couldn’t remember it, despite having called the number thousands of times.

  ‘Is the number in your phone, perhaps?’ Kenny asked.

  ‘My phone. Yes, of course.’ Diana reached into her handbag, picked up her phone and handed it to Kenny. ‘His name is Liam.’

  • • •

  Diana stayed in her puddle of inertia on the floor until the police arrived a few minutes later. They helped her up and took her and the pram to an office, directed by Kenny. It was a small, fluorescent lit room with a basic desk and four vinyl chairs. Besides a water dispenser in the corner and a few advertising posters pinned to a corkboard, there was nothing in the room to indicate whose office it was.

  One of the police officers, a man in his forties with a receding hairline and a ruddy complexion, handed Diana a plastic cup of water. She hadn’t realised she was thirsty but as soon as she took a sip she felt parched and gulped down the rest.

  ‘Mrs Simmons,’ the officer said. ‘My name is Sergeant Thomas. I know this is a very traumatic situation for you, but we need your help so we can find your baby. Is that okay?’

  Diana nodded.

  ‘Can you tell me your baby’s name, and how old he is?’

&nbs
p; ‘Noah Simmons. He’s two months old; he was born on the eleventh of March.’

  The sergeant made a note of this on his pad. ‘Where was the last place you remember seeing him?’

  ‘The supermarket, maybe?’ she said. ‘I can’t remember exactly, I’m really sorry. I had a wrap over the top of the pram so Noah could sleep.’

  ‘Is this the pram you’re referring to?’ the other officer asked her. He was younger than Sergeant Thomas, and had a closely shaved head and a dimpled chin that seemed at odds with his stern expression.

  ‘Yes, that’s my pram,’ Diana said.

  The officer searched through the capsule of the pram, as well as the pockets and the pouch underneath. ‘Have you noticed whether anything else was missing from the pram, Mrs Simmons? Any personal belongings?’

  Diana thought about what she had taken with her that morning. ‘Well, yes, I had Noah’s baby bag in the pram. It had nappies, a change of clothes, things like that. I have my handbag with me. I think that was everything.’

  He held out the wrap printed with images of a smiling giraffe that Diana had used to cover Noah’s pram. ‘This is the only item in the pram. So, I take it the bag is missing, then?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Diana said. ‘I don’t think I’d packed it into the car yet.’

  Diana studied the pram, hoping to bring her mind back to a state of clarity so she could help the police. She noticed the wheels of the pram looked more worn than she remembered. And the pouch underneath was green . . . wasn’t hers blue? She tried to find a clear image of the pram in her memory. Yes it was blue, she was sure of it.

  ‘That’s not my pram!’ She jumped to her feet in excitement. ‘It’s the wrong pram. Someone must have taken mine by mistake. They have Noah. Quick, we need to find whoever has my pram. They’ll be looking for me.’

  She pulled her handbag over her shoulder and started for the door. The two officers looked at each other, but didn’t move.

  ‘Mrs Simmons,’ Sergeant Thomas said. ‘We have two officers scouring the shopping centre looking for Noah. They’ve been instructed to question anyone with a pram. If someone did take your pram by mistake, they’ll find them. Please take a seat.’