“I’ve had a chat with Janice…”
Great. Just what you wanted to hear in a meeting with your training incumbent.
“Yeah?”
“About Samantha staying with you. We're... a bit concerned.”
Lucy avoided his eyes. “She has nowhere else. It’s only temporary.”
“I'm sure she would find somewhere else if she needed to. I know she's your friend, but we're concerned about you, your own wellbeing matters too and you've had a rough enough curacy already without more challenges. Samantha isn't your responsibility, we don't want you to let yourself feel she is.”
“I know that. I'm just... helping her out for a couple of weeks, while she finds something else. That's all.”
“Are you going to be able to enforce that? Is she looking for something?”
“She’s struggling, obviously.”
“And she’ll keep struggling. My heart goes out to her, she’s done this to herself and that makes it worse. But Janice and I both agree that open-handed generosity, while meritorious, is not always in the best interests of the person you’re giving to. Samantha needs to move on, that’s not going to get easier for waiting. Right now, she's stuck seeing you doing the thing she no longer can, that can't be helping her.”
“I guess not.” Though throwing her out with nothing… would that be so much better? "She's hurting so much."
“I know. But you can't solve that. Be a friend to her, and let the diocese do the rest.”
“They're not doing anything, though. She won't go to church, won't engage with anything about God, she's miserable and they're doing nothing. I'm the only one trying. You encouraged me before.”
“I tried to help you, as I still am. My concern is you. As for what the diocese are or are not doing, that's down to them, but there's usually a lot more happening under the surface than we get to see."
"I'm literally living in the same house as her. They're doing nothing."
"They may just be taking their time. Anyway, it's their job, not yours."
"I'm a priest in this diocese..."
"You are my curate. I have the cure of souls here, if she needs priestly ministry you can pass her to me."
"But she won't talk to you."
"That is her choice." He shook his head. "I'm not trying to discourage you from helping people, Lucy. I'm just concerned this isn't sustainable. I'm concerned about your wellbeing, and I'm concerned that you complete your curacy successfully. I know at the end of the day it's your choice, but I cannot in good conscience let this carry on without saying anything. Janice feels the same. We'd like you to encourage her to go elsewhere, and continue to support her from a distance, and let other people do their bit."
"But they're not doing it. And even in the same place, I'm barely getting anywhere, with all your advice. Without that, what hope does she have?"
"Samantha is a complex individual with her own free will. We can only hope that somewhere under the surface and at her own pace, the process of healing is going on, and that's a process dependent on far more than just you. You are not a counsellor, or a psychotherapist, or a carer, and you are certainly not God. But I have said what I need to say, and will leave it there. How are you getting on with Zachary?”
She scowled for a fraction of a second at his change of topic, then shook her head. “He just complains.”
“He’s always singing your praises when I get him on the phone. No, it won't stop him grumbling to your face, but he does like you.”
“Really?” She smiled despite herself. Zachary was a rotten grump, corrected her on everything, hated all aspects of his care home and insulted every member of his family. “Oh yeah, Anna asked if I would do her funeral. When the time comes.”
“Absolutely, you must, if you’re willing.”
“If I’m still here.”
“You will be, you have another couple of years and she’s in palliative care. No need to pretend, it benefits nobody.”
“Of course.”
“So, next month’s rota… we’ll be into Lent. Main one to share out is Ash Wednesday, I was thinking you could do a couple of the schools. Then an early morning and a lunchtime each, and I was going to give you the solemn Mass at St Mary’s in the evening?”
“You’re not going to do it yourself?”
“I’ll be there, and preach, but I thought you might like to celebrate. Good experience, for a start.”
“Um..." She considered it quickly. "I’ve never really been to an Ash Wednesday mass at all, I was still at CKC this time last year. Can I deacon and maybe celebrate next year, once I know, like, more about it?”
“Of course. I keep forgetting we’re still covering new ground. You can deacon, then, and we'll find an hour to talk about it beforehand. At least the triduum will be familiar, just about, though I know you were still settling in at that point.”
A nice way of putting it. He’d had to steer her through the Thursday and Friday services, gentle but firm when she wobbled.
“You’ll be okay to take services on your own for that, right? Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday all over the benefice, with some High Masses to share out… it’s like Christmas, but longer!”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I'll deacon for you at the Vigil, and we can swap for the morning. As for Good Friday, how do you feel about taking on the Walk of Witness?”
"Something I know! Yes, I'd love to."
"Fantastic. Anyway, back to March..."
From the meeting, they went straight to evening prayer, then she had bible study to take. Sam cleared off upstairs, to hide in silence until the last of the small band had departed Lucy’s living room and Lucy called her down. They met in the kitchen, Lucy already busy frying chicken for dinner, and Lucy felt like she should mention her conversation with Tim but couldn’t bring herself to do so. She'd wait until after they’d eaten, once she’d had a chance to make sure Sam was in a reasonably good place to hear it.
They sat on the sofa, ignoring the TV, and Lucy prayed silently for help. It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have, but putting it off wouldn’t help either. And much as Tim had said it was her choice, she couldn't just ignore him.
She turned down the sound.
“So, how’s the planning going? Any idea what you’re doing next?”
Sam blinked at her without answering.
“This isn’t a long-term thing,” Lucy pressed on. “You know that, I just said a couple of weeks…”
“You want me to go?”
“No, I just think you should. It’s not good for you, being here. I mentioned it to Tim – you being here, I mean – and he’s talked to the archdeacon, they both think you should go somewhere else. Find somewhere a bit more long term. I mean…”
“They haven’t kicked me out far enough already?”
“No, they mean it’s too painful for you to be living here, when I’m doing what you should be doing. It’d be better for you to get some space.”
“Where? I suppose there’s lots of space, out on the streets…”
“I’m not going to throw you out onto the streets, I just think you need to be looking, seriously.”
“I guess so. If the Church doesn’t want me around any more. And that extends to staying with you.”
“Sam! We just want the best for you. We want you to get better, that’s not happening unless you move on.”
“You just want me out of the way. I’m a lost cause, I know.”
“That’s not true…”
Sam stood up and left, and Lucy buried her head in her hands. What could she do? Sam needed to pull herself together, start living again, but Lucy couldn’t make her do that. She turned the TV up again. Upstairs, drawers opening and closing; Sam packing, perhaps. Lucy wouldn’t stop her - it was right that Sam should move on, even if she didn’t want to. They wouldn’t get anywhere, continuing as things were. Much as she hated to admit it, looking after Sam was exhausting, and Tim's concern for her had been well placed. And Sam was hardly making progress here anyway, so while her words might have been poorly phrased they'd needed to be said.
She was disturbed a few hours later, just as she was drifting off to sleep, by the faintest tap on her bedroom door. First instinct, to roll over and ignore it, or to call out a dozy “go away”. She pushed back the covers reluctantly and shuffled to the door. Outside, lit only by light from the doorway of her bedroom, stood Sam. Frustration bubbled up.
“What now?”
“I’m going to hell.”
“What? No. Can we do this tomorrow?”
“I’m going to hell. I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll miss you…”
Lucy fumbled for her own light switch. “What are you on about? You’re not going to hell. And you don’t have to leave now, we can talk in the morning.”
“No. I’m going to be dead.”
“Sam, what are you on about? You’re not going to die, especially not tonight. And you’re not going to hell, God is love and will forgive everything. It will be okay.”
Sam reached out a fumbling hand, an empty pill packet. “Too late. Pray for me, Lucy, I’m sorry…”
Lucy took the pill packet, checked though she didn’t need to, every tablet gone. “Is this all you’ve taken?”
“Another one… like it. Just half, some were gone already.”
“Fuck, Sam. Fuck. Come with me right now.”
No time for clothes, except a jumper over her pyjamas, and shoes so she could drive. She shoved sandals onto Samantha’s feet, wrapped a blanket round her, and then dragged her out to the car, fumbling for the seatbelt. Finally, there was a benefit to not having automation: she could break the speed limit, and she did.
“Sorry.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me… before?” Why did you do it? But Lucy knew the answer to that question. “Don’t you fucking dare give up. You’ve got to keep living, hear me? We’re almost there…”
She could see Sam flagging, as she swerved into the hospital car park, right up to the front door, left the car and dragged her up the steps into A&E. No queue, only four people in the waiting room; it was late and out-of-hours charges applied. She went straight up to the front desk.
“This is my friend, she’s overdosed on… these, a packet and a half like this, maybe forty minutes ago?” She dropped the empty box down on the desk.
And then there was action, and Lucy was giving details at the desk even as Samantha was pushed into a wheelchair and hurried away. All the details she knew – “I’ll… call someone… who should know the rest… should move my car first…”
Back outside, the cold air bringing her to her senses just enough to move the car into an empty space. Fortunate that the car park was quiet, because she wasn’t in a state to be manoeuvring.
Who to call? The archdeacon, she knew details, she was always the emergency contact, that’s who Tim would call. She found Janice’s number on her phone, dialled it as she walked back in. Where was Samantha? In another room somewhere, as they tried to fix what she’d done to herself. Nothing Lucy could do, apart from find these details, but there was a part of her which felt like she should at least be with Samantha, by her side, just… there. This was her fault, it was her telling Sam she had to leave…
“Janice Paule speaking…”
“Janice, it’s Lucy. Lucy Green. I need details for Samantha… Karner. I’m at the hospital…”
“Which one?”
“Um… St Catherine’s, A&E. Sam overdosed, they took her away, I’m not sure where she is now…”
“I need you to breathe for me.”
Like there was time for that. “I need her insurance details… for the reception staff… if you can tell me...”
“Breathe. Lucy, you need to slow down, I’m finding the details now. Breathe, slowly, at least four seconds in and six seconds out. Do that for me, now. At least three of those before you say anything else. It’s only thirty seconds.”
“Sam…”
“Breathing. Not talking. Getting yourself in a state will get us nowhere. I’m opening up the records now, so you can do your breathing for me while I find Samantha’s. I’m an efficient person, it won’t take long, I’m doing it while talking to you.”
“Sorry, I…”
“Lucy! Pull yourself together.” A hint of the sharpness for which she was known. Lucy had never been on the receiving end before.
Lucy stopped talking and did as she was told. Her heart was beating far too fast, a struggle to slow her breathing to even twice the rate Janice was demanding.
“Okay, I have her record in front of me. What do you need?” The archdeacon was back to her usual calm self.
“Um… date of birth... address… anything you have about insurance…”
“Pass the phone across to them, please.”
Lucy did as she was told, waiting while the administrator typed away. And then the phone was returned and she was sent over to take a seat.
“Okay, Lucy, is that it?”
Her phone was still up against her ear. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
“And what are you doing now?”
“Sitting down in the waiting room. It’s almost empty apart from me. Just a couple of people on the other side.”
“Good. Keep breathing, I’m coming to join you. Is there anything I should bring?”
“Um… no…”
“I’ll bring a drink and something to eat. If you go anywhere, tell them I’m coming. It’s a shock, are you going to be okay if I hang up now?”
“Um…”
“Okay, I’ll stay on the phone. We’ll talk about what happened later, face to face. For now, I’m just going to talk, to distract you while you calm down properly. I’m currently walking round the house, collecting things I need… the kettle’s on, I have two thermoses, what would you like? Tea? Green tea? Something herbal? Hot chocolate, for comfort?”
“Um…”
“I’ll make it chocolate, you like hot chocolate, right?”
“I mean… yeah, thanks.”
“Excellent. I’ll put in some wine gums and… chocolate digestives, sorry I don’t have anything more exciting. Cereal bars, choice between chocolate or fruit and nut, I’ll bring some of each. Okay, kettle’s boiled…”
Lucy just listened. Her leg was shaking now, and her free hand, and the brightly lit waiting room seemed to shimmer with ghosts.
“You still there?”
What? She had to reply. “Yeah.”
“Good. Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’m getting into my car now, I want to concentrate on driving so I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be with you in half an hour, max. Keep breathing, do some praying, have a walk around outside. You’ve done your bit, I’m on the way, other people are looking after things now.”
“O-Okay. Thanks.”
“See you soon, Lucy.”
“Yeah.”
That endless, timeless wait, on a sterile plastic chair under fluorescent lights. She followed Janice’s advice, got up and walked outside. It had started to rain, the tarmac glistening under the beams of hospital lights. She was still in pyjamas, with nothing else to change into, so didn’t leave the shelter of the porch, just put out a hand to feel the gentle coldness.
“Lucy?”
She turned.
“If you want to come and see your friend, you can. She’s currently unconscious…”
Lucy followed, down winding corridors, remembering at the last minute as she passed the front desk. “There’s someone coming, Janice Paule… she’s the archdeacon, got a clerical collar on probably, can you tell her where we are?”
“Of course.”
Sam was unconscious, as the nurse had said, covered in wires and tubes and an oxygen mask over her face. A monitor, tracking her heart rate as it dipped up and down, and down some more, and then started to beep, and then rose again just enough for the medical staff to sit back.
“Is she… will she..?”
“We can’t say. It’ll be a long night. It’s good that you were quick getting her here.”
Silence, watching the monitor, watching the grey skin and flickering eyelids. The trace dipping down, and down, and flatlining, the cruel note ringing through the flurry of activity until the trace rose again. Lucy reached out and took Sam’s hand, careful of the tubes and the clips on her fingers, held it as firmly as she dared. “Hold on, Sam. Hold on, promise me. We’ll sort it all out, just don’t give up…” Her voice cracked, and she fell silent, watching Sam's face for any movement, trying not to let the tears escape.
“Lucy.”
A hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up, eyes struggling to focus on the clerical collar and then up to the archdeacon’s face.
“Oh, Lucy. Well done.”
She didn’t even realise she was crying until Janice offered her tissues. Offered, then pulled a seat up close, put her arms around her. The monitor flatlined again, then fell silent, and Lucy glanced across to see it flickering up and down. It was still flickering up and down in front of her eyes as she looked back at Janice, blinked tearily. Janice tucked her hair back behind her ear for her, an arm still round her shoulders.
“Go on. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“She… she came in… she knocked on my door and I opened it and she said… she said I’m going to hell. And I said no, you’re not. And… talk tomorrow. And she said it again, she said she was going to die, and… I didn’t know what she meant, I thought she was just upset about the idea of leaving or something, I told her we’d talk in the morning… I said, you’re not going to hell, God loves you… and she said no, it’s too late. And then she gave me… gave me the empty packet… and… I dunno. I got her here. Got in here, told them what had happened, called you… I told her earlier that she needed to think about leaving, that you and Tim agreed… she thought I was throwing her out, she thought we didn’t want her, she thought… she thought she was going to be homeless… she thought I didn’t... want her… she said… she was going to hell... she said… she…”
She let Janice pull her in, buried her face in the archdeacon’s shirt. It was a dream, right, a nightmare? She’d wake up in the morning and have breakfast with Sam, and then she’d go to morning prayer, and everything would be normal…
“You poor thing. You poor, poor thing. Well done. You’ve done so well, you’ve done everything anyone could ask of you. Just cry, it’s okay.”
And then the machine flatlined again, the alarm tone piercing through everything else. It was a nightmare, but she wasn’t asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment