Someone to Watch Over Me tg-5 Page 11

  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?

  CHAPTER 9

  Saturday, 9 January 2010

  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 entryph
one. 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.

  ‘Hello, Jakob.’ Thóra interrupted him and extended her hand. When he didn’t take it, she withdrew it. ‘It would certainly be much better if you could move back home. As your mother said, I’m going to see whether that’s possible, but you’ve got to help me a little bit.’ His expression was still sceptical, and now seemed even a touch angry. ‘I need to ask you some questions and you must answer me truthfully and correctly. This won’t be like when other people have been speaking to you, because you can tell me everything and I’ll never get angry. I want to be your friend and you can trust your friends.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ It wasn’t a good sign that he couldn’t remember her name for more than a second. How could he possibly be expected to remember things from over a year ago? Hopefully he just hadn’t been listening.

  ‘My name is Thóra and I want to try to help you. I’m actually not at all certain that you started the fire. Do you remember the fire?’ He shook his large head but his fearful expression suggested otherwise. ‘Yes, Jakob, you remember it, don’t you?’

  ‘Fire is hot and it burns and hurts. I definitely know that.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Thóra smiled. She had to be careful, especially not to ask leading questions. ‘Did you maybe see how the fire damaged the home and hurt the people there?’

  ‘The home hurt the people too.’ Jakob looked at his mother. ‘A lot of them started crying. But not me.’

  ‘Did they start to cry when the fire was burning the house?’ Thóra wasn’t sure whether he was speaking generally and referring to how unhappy he’d felt at the centre or whether he meant the cries of those who died in the fire.

  ‘Then as well. I didn’t start crying.’ He looked proudly towards his mother. ‘I was good like you told me to be.’

  ‘So you saw the fire?’ Thóra did her utmost not to be too aggressive, but she needed to work this out.

  ‘The fire was bad.’ He turned to his mother again. ‘I don’t want to talk about the fire and I don’t want to talk to this lady. She’s just like the bad man.’ Thóra assumed he meant Ari.

  ‘Did you know that I brought raisin cakes for you?’ Grímheiður took her son’s large hand in hers. ‘If you’re good about talking to Thóra, I’ll see whether you can have one afterwards. I made them for you in the big pot. Do you remember it?’ He nodded and turned slowly back to Thóra.

  It was probably better to start with something other than the fire. ‘Do you remember Lísa, Jakob?’ He nodded and didn’t appear thrown by the mention of her name. ‘Was she your girlfriend?’

  ‘No, she couldn’t talk. She was still good, though.’

  ‘How was she “good”?’ Thóra prayed that he wouldn’t answer this by saying anything romantic or sexual.

  ‘She never cried. She was always just tired and sleeping.’

  ‘Was there ever anyone in bed with her?’ Jakob looked in surprise at Thóra. ‘No. Never. That was just her bed.’

  ‘Did you ever get into bed with her?’ She felt she had to just ask straight out, although Grímheiður’s look of astonishment suggested that she didn’t know why Thóra was asking the question. ‘Or did you see anyone else do that?’

  ‘No,’ Jakob half shouted. ‘There was no room and I had my own bed. Everyone had their own bed.’ He paused before adding: ‘Mine burned but that was okay. I didn’t want it. I have a room at Mummy’s house. No one is bad there.’

  ‘Who was bad at the home?’

  ‘Lots of people. One woman was very bad and I hit her.’ He frowned. ‘She deserved it. She was bad.’

  ‘You should never hurt people, Jakob. You know that.’ His mother stroked the back of his plump hand. ‘Do you remember how angry everyone was?’

  ‘No one was angry when she was hurting…’ he tailed off.

  ‘Are you talking about Glódís? Who did she hurt?’ Thóra hoped that it was only the director that Jakob had beaten. With the bite on Ari’s upper arm, that made two assaults, which was two too many. She’d seen Glódís’s testimony about this incident the second time she’d looked through the court documents, but had hoped that it was an exaggeration or a misunderstanding, that Jakob hadn’t intended to hurt the woman. It appeared that wasn’t the case.

  ‘She hurt… a lot. I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Did she hurt you? Was that why you hit her?’

  ‘No, she took the picture that Tryggvi gave me. It was mine but she took it from me and said that I couldn’t have it. I got angry and hit her with the broom. She deserved it. You can’t take what belongs to other people. That’s stealing.’

  Thóra hurried to speak before Grímheiður chipped in with some motherly guidance and reprimanded her son for this long-past deed. ‘Did you get the picture back? What was it of?’ Perhaps Jakob had nicked a report or some other document from Tryggvi’s apartment; according to the descriptions given of him in the court papers, Tryggvi hadn’t communicated with other people.

  ‘Glódís never let me have it back. And I wanted to have it, it was a picture of a man shouting. And letters that I didn’t understand.’

 
‘Did Tryggvi give you the picture? Did he say anything to you?’

  ‘No, he just handed it to me. That’s just as much giving as if he’d said something. He couldn’t talk.’

  This conversation appeared to be leading nowhere. Jakob’s attack on Glódís had apparently been prompted by frustration and irritation at the injustice that he thought he’d been done; first he’d been deprived of his home, and then his picture. ‘So Tryggvi was your friend. That’s nice.’

  ‘Poor Tryggvi.’ Jakob shut his eyes tightly and murmured something incomprehensible. Then he opened them wide again and stared at Thóra. ‘Look at me. Look at me.’

  Thóra, who had hardly taken her eyes off him since he came in, held his gaze. ‘I’m looking, Jakob. Did you want to tell me something?’ The young man’s energy suddenly flagged and he seemed to go limp in his chair.

  ‘I want cake.’ His tone was a classic child’s whine. ‘I’m not answering any more questions.’

  ‘Just a little longer, Jakob. Then you can have cake.’ Thóra hoped she was right. She had no idea what rules they had about eating here; there could very well be a ban on eating between meals. She hoped not. ‘Who do you think set the centre on fire, Jakob? You can tell me and I won’t tell anyone. It would help me so much if you told me what you think, because you knew everyone.’ There was no need for her to put so much effort into this question, because the answer came immediately and categorically.