by Penny Kline
‘We’ll just come up for a minute,’ she said. ‘Come on, Gerard.’
Inside my room they stood together by the window. The parcel was pushed into my hands.
‘Just a small token of our thanks,’ said Gerard. ‘I never thought much of you people before but you’ve proved me wrong, worked a miracle, I’d say.’
It’s embarrassing opening a present in front of the giver but that’s what I was expected to do. I undid the ribbon, then lifted out a small circular wooden box, highly polished and inlaid with a darker pattern.
‘Open it,’ said Gerard, ‘it’s an apprentice’s sample, made by my uncle when he was a lad. Here, let me show you.’
He lifted the lid to reveal another circular box, then another and another down to one that was barely an inch in diameter.
‘Like your work,’ said Enid. ‘Each time you solve one problem you find another one.’
She had her hand on my arm. It wasn’t a criticism. It was meant to be a compliment. I thanked them profusely, then said goodbye to them at the top of the stairs and wished them well. After that I returned to my room and started putting all the boxes together again. Then I burst into tears.
*
When I reached the house Val was waiting just inside the open front door. She came hurrying down the path.
‘I feel dreadful dragging you out like this.’
‘No problem,’ I said, taking in the bow windows, glass porch, and the small white car in the parking bay.
I stepped into the spotless hallway and Val took my coat and hung it next to her own. On a small oval table stood a bowl of pot-pourri and a large china cat. The scent of the dried flower-heads blended with other smells coming from the kitchen at the end of the passage. Warm bread and celery soup?
Val was dressed in brown wool trousers and a heather-mixture sweater. Her hair was held back from her face by a wide beige band but in spite of this she looked softer, less severe than when I had seen her in the park. She led me into the front room, then asked me to excuse her for a moment.
I sat down on the nearest chair and gazed round the room. My first impression was of how incredibly clean and tidy everything looked. Val hadn’t tidied up specially because of my visit. It was always like this. I could tell.
On the wall above the living-flame gas fire was a reproduction of Monet’s Water Lilies. Several photographs in expensive frames stood on the mantelpiece. Two were of Jenny as a small baby. In another she look about six or seven, dressed in a bottle-green school uniform, her hair neatly parted and held in place by a butterfly slide.
The room was beautifully furnished but it had a lonely feel to it. I imagined Val and Jenny sitting side by side on the large cushioned sofa. Or perhaps Jenny lay full-length, wrapped in a duvet, and her mother sat in the matching armchair. What did they talk about? Val’s work as a receptionist? Jenny’s visits to the doctor or to see me?
Val returned with a tray. She looked concerned.
‘You’re tired, I can see it in your eyes, and there’s me making even more work for you. You haven’t eaten, have you? Just soup, I’m afraid, but it’ll keep out the cold.’
‘Oh.’ I had no appetite but didn’t want to seem rude. ‘Thanks.’
On the tray were two grey earthenware bowls and two willow-pattern plates, each with a large slice of wholemeal bread. Jenny must be having hers in bed.
‘Jenny’s upstairs, is she?’ I asked.
Val flinched slightly. ‘She was. I feel awful after you’ve come all this way. I’m afraid she went out to the shops five minutes ago.’
‘She knew I was coming?’
Val nodded. ‘I told her you were but I couldn’t hear what she said.’
I laughed. ‘It was probably unrepeatable.’
‘Oh, no, she likes coming to see you. It’s just that she’s so terribly sensitive. The slightest thing can upset her for hours. I expect it was something I said. I have to be so careful.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘Really? You think it’s best to treat her just like anyone else?’
She moved a coffee-table closer to my chair, then started spreading out my lunch. She was nervous, afraid I would blame her for Jenny’s departure, afraid she had made things worse for Jenny. I tried to reduce her anxiety.
‘Look, don’t worry. The thing is, everything that happens is part of helping Jenny. Not just her coming to see me, but all of this. I mean, perhaps it was a mistake me coming here, but perhaps not. Sometimes doing something the client doesn’t like has a good effect, indirectly. It changes things, provides an opportunity to develop the relationship.’
Who was I trying to reassure? But Val looked relieved.
‘Yes, I think I know what you mean. One of the counsellors at the university forgot an appointment but the student just said it was a relief the counsellor wasn’t superhuman. After that they got on like a house on fire.’
‘Exactly.’ I picked up my spoon and took a sip of the celery soup. It was very hot, probably home-made, and rather comforting.
Val sat on a seat which had been specially made to fit the large bow window. She glanced at the front garden, then lowered her voice as though she thought Jenny might be listening from behind a bush.
‘Has she told you about the television?’
‘Television?’
‘I’m afraid she’s quite hooked on all the soap operas. Once the picture had interference — it was low pressure or something — and she became quite hysterical. She sees the characters as real people, like friends. I wonder sometimes if it’s quite normal.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry. She’s spent a lot of time at home during the last few years. People use soap operas to create a kind of social life for themselves.’
‘Yes, I see. So you don’t think it matters, just for the time being until she’s well again?’
‘Does Jenny see any of her old school friends?’
‘Never. She’s completely lost touch. I’ve tried to persuade her to invite people round but she says they wouldn’t want to come. Perhaps now’s the time to try again. I know she needs to see people of her own age.’
I bit into the chunk of bread, trying not to drop crumbs on the carpet.
‘Where d’you think Jenny will have gone?’ I asked.
‘Oh, not far — she likes looking round the shops — not long ago she stayed out till nearly six-fifteen. I was quite worried. She didn’t mention it to you, did she?’
I shook my head. ‘I expect she’ll come home as soon as she thinks I’m safely out of the way.’
Val was silent. She hadn’t touched her soup and in fact there had been very little in her bowl to start with.
In contrast, my appetite had improved and I was rather enjoying having lunch provided for me. It made a change from a snatched sandwich or sitting in a noisy pub with Martin, Nick, and Beth.
‘Jenny’s father,’ I said cautiously, expecting Val to bristle, ‘I don’t think she’s kept in contact.’
She sighed but she seemed sad rather than defensive.
‘He moved to the Midlands, made a new life for himself. Oh, I know he cares about Jenny but …
‘Things must have been difficult for you.’
‘Well, yes in a way, but I wouldn’t want you to think it was all his fault. Six of one and half a dozen of the other. Jenny tends to blame her father, not that I’ve ever said anything against him, but I suppose she feels she has to take sides.’
‘Perhaps she worries about you.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid you may be right. That’s one of my main regrets.’
I felt uneasy talking about Jenny behind her back. On the other hand, it had been her choice to leave me alone with her mother. Perhaps I hadn’t scared her off, perhaps she just wanted the two of us to get to know each other better.
Val was watching me, wondering what I was thinking. She pushed a butter dish in my direction but I smiled and shook my head.
‘This soup’s delicious.’
‘Thank
you.’
‘It’s a lovely house.’ I looked round at the blue and white wallpaper, the blue fitted carpet and fluffy white hearth rug.
‘We like it. Of course it’s rather large now there’s just the two of us but I’d hate to move. Staying on here provides a feeling of continuity.’
‘Yes, of course.’
I pictured Jenny and Val sitting by the fire in the evening watching soap operas, speculating about who was going to have a baby, embark on an illicit affair, get in trouble with the police. Just for a moment I felt quite envious.
‘I don’t know if it’s the same when she sees you,’ said Val, ‘but when Jenny’s at home she never says very much.’
‘I think she finds it difficult to express how she feels.’
‘So you haven’t got much out of her either?’
I thought fast, not wanting to tell her anything that Jenny hadn’t told her already.
‘Oh, it’s early days yet. She’ll talk when she wants to.’
Now that I was here I was determined to make the most of the opportunity. Dr Ingram had told me so little, even implied I had no right to ask him for information. Val, on the other hand, seemed quite happy to talk.
‘The headaches,’ I said, ‘can you remember when they began?’
I smiled at her but she didn’t seem to have heard what I said. Her eyes conveyed the same sadness I had noticed in the park. Then her shoulders moved as though a shudder had run down her back, and she came back to life.
‘Oh, sorry, you asked me a question. Jenny’s headaches. It’s hard to think. Of course Jenny was always delicate. I didn’t have her until I was in my late twenties and she was born three weeks premature and at first they weren’t sure she was going to live.’
‘How awful for you.’
‘Yes. Of course, it took her a while to catch up. I sometimes wonder if that’s why she’s so thin.’
‘Yes, I see.’ I wanted to find out about the ‘bit of bother’ a few months back, but maybe in this respect Dr Ingram had been right. I should wait until Jenny was ready to tell me. If she ever returned to see me, which I was now beginning to doubt.
‘Do you live in this part of the city?’ asked Val.
‘No, Cliftonwood.’
‘Oh yes, I know. I had a friend who played the organ at that church up by the primary school.’
She started telling me about her own church and how the vicar had some rather unusual ideas but was a wonderful parish priest all the same. I wasn’t really listening. Since seeing Rob the post cards had been constantly on my mind. If he hadn’t sent them it could be any one of a dozen ex-clients — or even one I was still seeing. It even occurred to me that David might be responsible. One of his elaborate games designed to tease, keep me guessing. The last one — the woman with gaping mouth and bushy hair — did that represent his general view of women? Not really, he would confess with a laugh. Only a joke. I could hear his voice, smell his skin, his hair …
Val had stopped talking and was watching me intently. I jumped slightly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re worn out, I’m not surprised, and there’s me rambling on. The counsellors at the university get more and more exhausted as the term goes on, but then there’s the vacations, time for them to get their breath back, whereas for you — ’
‘We do have the occasional holiday.’
‘Yes, of course, and I’m sure you need it. It’s strange, isn’t it, nowadays there’s all these therapists, psychologists, psychoanalysts, whereas when I was a girl we never talked about anything much, just fashions and hair-styles, all that kind of thing.’
‘You think there’s too much psychology about?’
‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that, I think it’s a big improvement, only I sometimes find it strange — all those television programmes discussing topics that were quite unmentionable only ten or fifteen years ago.’
She began collecting up the soup bowls and plates. Then she asked if I would like some coffee.
‘Jenny and I usually drink decaffeinated but I think there’s — ’
‘No coffee thanks. But the lunch was delicious.’
She sat down again, leaving the tray on a mahogany sideboard. ‘Oh, you do look tired. I hope you have someone you can confide in. Care for the carers, they call it, don’t they?’
It was the first time for ages that someone had been concerned for my wellbeing. Martin, of course, but his words always sounded like a criticism of my inability to take a sensible professional attitude to my work.
Just for moment I wanted to tell her about Rob, and the cards, and the intruder in my flat. Instead I stood up, smiling, and my voice when I spoke had the cheery tone I would have picked up at once as a defence if one of my clients had spoken that way.
‘Yes, there’s always someone we can talk to. It’s an exhausting job but it can be very rewarding.’
I sounded so false, but Val smiled sympathetically. ‘Before you go, I wondered, would you like to see Jenny’s bedroom?’
‘Well, yes, if you think she wouldn’t mind.’
‘Oh, no, I’m sure she’d like you to.’
She ran up the stairs ahead of me. She was exceptionally light on her feet for someone so tall.
I allowed a moment for her to tidy up if necessary, then followed her into what must have been the smallest bedroom in the house.
Everything was pink. Pink walls, pink and white curtains with matching duvet cover, pink carpet. My eyes were drawn to the windowsill, which was covered in china animals but without the usual dust that collects on rows of ornaments. Two tabby kittens playing with a ball of wool, a white duck with five ducklings, a chestnut foal, a black and white spaniel. I walked across and lifted up the kittens.
‘Have you got a cat?’
She shook her head. ‘Poor old Muffin, she died just a few months ago.’ Her voice was a croaky whisper. She looked distraught, as though the cat’s death had been a shattering blow.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘losing an animal can be terribly upsetting. People who’ve never had a pet don’t understand.’
Someone was putting a key in the front door. Val looked slightly startled.
‘That’ll be Jenny. We’d better go down.’
Jenny stood in the hallway, smiling. She looked happier than I had ever seen her, but perhaps she kept the gloomy face for her appointments with me.
‘Hallo, Jenny.’
‘Hallo.’ She glanced at me with a strange, almost triumphant expression on her face, then ran upstairs.
She was angry with me for coming round. She assumed I had told her mother about the missed appointments but she didn’t care.
Val touched me lightly on the arm. ‘Thank you so much. Jenny’s next appointment’s on Friday, isn’t it? Not that I ever say anything but she has all the dates marked on her calendar. She likes everything to be properly organized. She’s always been the same, so methodical, so conscientious.’
Chapter Nineteen
Owen Hughes was reading through my proposal — ‘to reacquaint himself with the details’ — although I suspected it was the first time he had looked at it properly.
I waited, shivering. An ancient radiator at the far end of the room made occasionally glugging sounds but seemed to be producing very little heat. I wished I had kept my coat on but it seemed rude to go and fetch it from the hook on the back of the door.
He was dressed in the same grey jacket as before but under it he wore a black sweater over his dark blue shirt. After a few minutes he leaned back in his chair and raised his arms above his head.
‘Well then, what’s the hypothesis?’
‘Hypothesis,’ I repeated stupidly, ‘well, the way I see it, I think there may be a particular type of personality who channels all his or her anxieties into their body … their bodily functions.’
‘So you’ve defined hypochondria, now what?’
‘I want to find out if this is learned behaviour or something innate, inherited.’
‘And I also want to find the best way to help these people.’
‘That sounds more promising.’
He stood up and walked towards the window. With the light behind him all I could see was the dark shape of his body. His face had become a blur.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I’ve been wondering if it might not be better to look at frequent attenders, people who have far above the average number of consultations with their GP every year.’
‘Aren’t they the same group, more or less?’
‘Not necessarily. Some of the frequent attenders may just want someone to talk to. They may admit they’re not physically ill, just anxious or depressed.’
‘Do you know a doctor who would co-operate? Several doctors would be better.’
‘Yes, I think I could arrange it.’
‘Good.’ He sat down again, pulled a clean sheet of paper from a drawer and started making notes. ‘You’ll need to compare two groups. A group of — what is it you call them?’
‘Frequent attenders.’
‘And a control group, picked randomly from the whole list of registered patients.’
He was talking to me as though I was a complete idiot but it was my own fault, I had encouraged him to treat me that way.
‘Right,’ I said, standing up, preparing to leave.
‘You have to go somewhere?’
‘No. Not really.’ I sat down again.
‘How long have you been working here, or did I ask you that before?’
He didn’t wait for an answer. Someone was knocking on the door. Crossing the room he opened it a crack and told whoever it was to go away and come back another time. Then he returned to his swivel chair and seemed to be trying to remember what we had been talking about.
‘What did you think of the seminar?’
So he had seen me after all.
‘It was interesting.’
‘Not too bad. At least we were spared the overhead projector and she seemed to know what she was talking about even if she had very little in the way of a coherent theory to explain the phenomenon.’