Stranger Still

by Marilyn Messik

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” I said, moving past and because I wasn’t just late, I was cross as well, I linked that memory. Every time she slapped that child, she’d feel it too. I left her trying to work out what the hell had just happened and trotted into the clinic. Mercifully Mavis was running late herself, so by the time she called me in I’d had time to grab a waiting-room chair and look as if I’d been there for ages.

  “Any problems?” she wanted to know as she measured, blood pressured and palpated. There were in fact plenty of problems but nothing I could trouble her with. I was getting clumsier by the day. Last week I’d broken two plates on their way from cupboard to table. Bearing in mind the Great Sugar Puff Disaster, I’d held them extra firmly, but midway just sort of lost them and they crashed and smashed. I knew brain fog was normal, but in my case it meant my mental blinds started flipping open at unexpected times, so in the middle of a conversation I’d suddenly be hearing half a dozen others, criss-crossing and tangling in my head. It was like hearing several radios on different stations simultaneously. Sometimes I just had to stop talking, put my head in my hands and let it all fade and flow away. That brought its own problems, giving people enough of a fright to get busy with wet towels for the back of my neck, tiger balm for my forehead and a sweet drink for blood sugar, it was all a bit tiresome.

  “Well?” Mavis, washing her hands at the sink, looked over her shoulder,

  “Sorry?” I’d forgotten what she’d asked.

  “Cotton wool in your ears? Anything bothering you?” I shook my head, “what are you hoping for?” she said, drying briskly. Actually, I couldn’t make up my mind, strange like me or not like me? I was trying not to come down on either side, but remain flexible. Apart from a lot of kicking and squirming, the small being inside, didn’t seem to have anything to say, so for the moment I was thinking normal.

  “Right,” said Mavis, “well Baby’s happy enough, Mum just needs to relax more. See, on the top there,” she pointed as she handed me my records to put away, “phone number. Any questions ring me. If I’m not on, one of the others’ll see to you.” She tutted at my upended tortoise impression as I struggled to sit up, “Now, what have we said? Over on our side, first.” I’d become quite fond of midwife Mavis, bossy as she was, she reminded me of Rachael, I hoped she’d be on duty for the birth. I obediently rolled my hefty self over on my side and she looped her arm below mine to help me slide off the couch. As usual, most of the couch’s paper covering came with me.

  “Oops, sorry.” I apologised, laughed and looked up. Looking back at me was a chalk-white face with a frenziedly fixed grin and achingly empty eye sockets.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The baby must have felt the shock as much as I did, the adrenaline would have shot through her too, and how odd in that moment, I didn’t doubt the bump was a she. Midwife Mavis put her head to one side above the crisp blue uniform, tilting the rigid whiteness as if listening then, arm still looped through mine, moved closer as if to impart a secret. Behind the horror of the impassivity, was a strange intensity of concentration, curiosity and intent.

  I was acutely aware of my baby, unusually still within me, whilst all around, unnaturally amplified were the familiar sounds, smells and bustle of the clinic; antiseptic, anticipation and apprehension, for me, swiftly shifting shades of metallically scented silver. Mavis was still there, I could hear her running a pre-eclampsia checklist in her head because I’d mentioned headaches - blood pressure, ankles urine all checked. I reached out with my fingers, moving smoothly through the white to warm skin beneath; she took a step back. Midwives touch patients, patients don’t touch midwives.

  “Sorry,” I said, “bit dizzy.”

  “Baby pressing on blood vessels I expect; nothing to worry about.” Brisk behind the mask she didn’t know was there, Mavis helped me off the couch, “Pop onto that chair for me, here - sip of water.” The blank-eyed blazing grin bent to look into my face, “hmm, let’s get that head down,” a hand on the back of my neck, “that’s it, arms on your knees, can’t have you falling off. It’ll pass, just stay where you are while I finish your notes.” And Mavis, with the not-Mavis face, sat to briskly fill in blanks with a biro.

  I was over the initial fright but baffled; I couldn’t feel or sense anything at all that would account for what I was seeing.

  “How we doing?” I knew she had a roomful of women to see after me, and had surreptitiously checked her watch, she was anxious to move on, but wouldn’t let me go until she was certain I was OK. I got to my feet, reached for coat and bag.

  “I’m fine now, really. Sorry.”

  “No problem,” she said, “here, Stella dear, your notes,” but that wasn’t Mavis speaking, the hint of an accent, the intonation, the affection and for a second or two, the unmistakeably rich, purple-deep lavender overwhelming other scents and senses. I wanted only to let go, to lean into the warmth and familiarity. Then cynicism and baby kicked in at the same time. The voice and scent were as false as the face, and with the thought lavender faded fast, leaving only a rancid aftertaste. And as Mavis ushered me out of the door, the mask was already dissipating, the effect oddly more chilling, because for a moment she was neither one nor the other.

  “Let’s have you looking a lot less pale next time.” she said. I nodded, with remaining traces of white I could have said exactly the same to her. “Now, what on earth have you done there, silly girl? Here,” she handed me a plaster. I must have been grasping my notes too tightly, a semi-open staple had pierced my finger and now she’d pointed it out, it hurt disproportionately, the way those small injuries do, there was blood on my records now, it felt portentous.

  Sometimes there’s something you have to think about; it’s important but disturbing, so you have to find a time when there’s energy to take it on and until you do, it’s not anything you can discuss. So, when David wanted to know if all had gone well at the clinic I said yes, and when he raised an eyebrow at a brown stain on my white t-shirt, and drew his own conclusions, I let him.

  “What was it then, Flake? Mars Bar?” he said. I looked sheepish. I wasn’t keeping things from him, but if I wasn’t clear what had happened, how on earth could I explain it to him?

  It was no surprise that I had a nightmare that night, although it gave David and Kat a terrible fright; apparently I sat up, singing.

  “Singing?” I asked, when he finally managed to wake me, “Singing?”

  “And you’re even more tuneless asleep than awake.”

  “What was I singing?”

  “Hard to say, nothing that’ll trouble the hit parade anytime soon,” he saw I wasn’t laughing with him, “some kind of nursery rhyme I think, hey Sweetie, you’ve had these before – well, not the singing – but nothing to worry about,” he heroically hauled himself out of bed, “I’ll make you a hot milk.” As he left the room, Kat settled down again with a martyred sigh.

  “You wanted to sleep here fur-face; you’ll have to take the rough with the smooth!” I told her. I was stone tone deaf; never sang and no idea why I’d started now. Sipping the welcome hot milk and with David asleep again beside me I desperately wanted to talk to one of the others, but Glory had been insistent I shouldn’t phone the school, she wouldn’t have said it without good reason. I’d have to fall back on Boris.

  * * * *

  This proved easier said than done, which had never happened before. I tried him unsuccessfully at regular intervals over the next couple of days and left increasingly terse messages on his answer machine, adding sourly that it was a good thing this wasn’t a flipping emergency!

  When I did get him, it was a startlingly unsatisfactory call. I gave him a quick precis, mask and all and he listened carefully, said ‘hmm’ in some places, ‘ahh’ in others and I could almost smell the aniseed ball I knew he had in one cheek. I did not feel I had his full attention and thought I might scream, if he blamed it on the baby.

  “You know,” he said, “the body does odd things to the mind
and you are due to give birth soon.” I clenched the phone receiver with which I’d have liked to bash him – perhaps we could have chuckled over that bashing and put it down to the pregnancy as well. Instead I opted for a more grown-up approach.

  “This is me, Boris,” I said, “I know what’s real and what’s not,” and then because I felt I hadn’t imparted properly the full fright of the happening, I sent him the face. It’s never easy to do over the phone but I didn’t expect the reaction I got.

  “It’s Comedy.”

  “Well, I’m not laughing” I snapped, then realised he was right.

  “Exactly,” he’d picked up that thought well enough, “the Greeks used masks because amphitheatres were so big, most of the audience weren’t going to hear a word of the play, at least this way they’d know if they were watching a comedy or a tragedy and…”

  “Boris,” I broke in, “you’re missing the point. I realise what it is, I want to know why I was seeing it?” he heaved a sigh that sounded almost as long-suffering as one of Kat’s.

  “Stella, it’s something you see all the time in theatre ads and television. It is a symbol, something so familiar; you probably don’t even notice it. You were lying down and the midwife warned you, the weight of the baby can restrict your breathing. Your brain plucked a random image from memory to alarm you, you reacted, you moved, oxygen problem resolved.”

  “So, just my imagination then?”

  “No, your brain reacting to risk.”

  “Where was the other one then?”

  “Other one?”

  “Tragedy,” I said, and put the phone down.

  * * * *

  I won’t lie, and I’m not proud, but, after putting the phone down, I sulked. Boris hadn’t been rude, customary courtesy was all in place but I couldn’t get over his disinterest. I felt I’d gone overnight from valued colleague to hysterical nuisance. Then I realised, I hadn’t even asked about Ruth or Devlin, but I was damned if I’d ring back, however much I wanted to know. One thing I did know for sure was that was I wasn’t going to get much work done for the rest of the afternoon. I decided to pull rank and leave early.

  Brenda eyed me as I told her I was off, “Should think so too, you look awful,” she never pulled punches, “go on. Get your feet up, all under control here.” I thanked her with a smile, called bye to Ruby and Trudie and with Kat on my heels, headed downstairs; literally as it turned out because the next thing I knew, I was flat out on the floor at the bottom surrounded by a lot of people talking at once in deliberately calm voices, and there was something wet on my face. It was all rather unexpected, I must say, and I was tempted to simply stay there with my eyes closed while I tried to work out what had happened. I realised that wouldn’t be fair so I opened one cautiously.

  “She’s coming round.”

  “Don’t move her.”

  “Stella, can you hear me?”

  “Of course, I can hear you,” I turned to look at Trudie but couldn’t. I hoped it didn’t mean I’d broken my neck, but it turned out that Joy, behind me, had my head in an iron grip. I thought I’d hear a lot better if she took both hands off my ears and told her so.

  “Have to keep your head still.” she said, “St John Ambulance.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “No, I did a course.”

  “That’s for us to decide,” said Brenda.

  “What? Whether Joy did or didn’t do a course?” I asked, everyone wisely ignored me, probably not the best time for jokes.

  “This is silly, I’m calling 999.” Hilary grabbed the phone on the reception desk.

  “No, don’t,” I said. “I’m not hurt. I don’t want a fuss.” then I chuckled; I was lying at the foot of our stairs, circled by Trudie, Ruby, Brenda, Hilary and Joy plus Kat at my right shoulder, who’d taken it upon herself to supply intermittent licks, supplementing the wet cloth someone had put on my forehead. Behind Hilary, Martin was hovering anxiously, no change there then, but so were two other people I’d never seen in my life before. Presumably they’d popped in to book a holiday and were now in the middle of a crisis. ‘No fuss’ didn’t seem to be the order of the day. I stifled a laugh because I could see giggling was only going to further agitate everyone. I shut my eyes briefly because a ceiling light above my head was shining directly into my eyes.

  “Uh oh, she’s going again, I’m ringing,” said Hilary.

  “I am not going,” I said sharply, “just give me a minute.” It wasn’t easy to concentrate, even when everyone stopped talking, there were all sorts of medical scenarios running through different minds. It was like watching an episode of Dr Kildare with the sound turned up and was distracting while I was attempting to do a ‘Sam’.

  When I’d been stabbed a year or so ago and he was sorting me out, he’d made it seem so simple. It wasn’t necessary, he said, to create the 3D body image he automatically did, because injury usually gives off heat as the body tries to help itself; if you looked, you couldn’t miss it. I’d never tried to follow up on that, there was enough hypochondria in the family already and I felt developing diagnostic abilities would help no-one, but now I did a quick survey and was pretty sure, there wasn’t anything going on that shouldn’t have been.

  “Joy,” I said, “let go my head, I haven’t broken anything.”

  “What about the baby?” Brenda asked.

  “No, don’t think I broke the baby either.”

  “Kicking?” Trudie put a hand on my stomach and after a moment smiled, “kicking.” A concerted sigh of relief went up followed by a chorus of consternation when I insisted I just wanted to go home.

  We compromised by the team hauling me to my feet and sitting me on a chair with Hilary and Brenda stationed either side in case I toppled and Joy conjuring up tea and biscuits for everyone – well, we’d all had a shock – whilst decisions were made as to next steps because nobody would hear of me driving myself.

  I didn’t remember falling and I thought I’d know if I’d tripped. I didn’t think I’d passed out either, I’d done enough of that at recent blood tests to recognise a faint when I saw one coming on, so no, I hadn’t fainted. Ruby who could see the stairs from her desk said I’d stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, then went down like a sack of potatoes.

  “Legs just folded,” she reported, “you didn’t even try and hold on to stop yourself. That’s why drunks and babies don’t usually get hurt when they fall - they don’t realise what’s happening.” I wasn’t really listening to her, I had no memory of falling but I remembered very well what had happened just before I fell. Someone was chanting, I couldn’t remember the words but I recognised their rhythm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Confabs had been going on over my head; it didn’t appear I had a vote. It was decided Joy would drive me home. If we were short staffed she was sometimes roped in to pick up or drop someone, so was insured on my car. Brenda nominated herself to ride shotgun and stay until David got home. Joy went off at a trot to get the car, and we walked out to meet her at the kerb; Brenda holding my arm, Ruby taking Kat’s lead, Trudie carrying my bag and other stuff and Hilary in a supervisory and door-holding role. I was remonstrating that I was fine and honestly didn’t need all this, when Trevor pitched up to collect Joy and the day got just a little bit more awkward.

  “Everything alright?” he enquired with concern, as our procession advanced. It was a while since I’d seen him; he was as urbane as ever and with impeccable manners, immediately relieved Trudie of bag and files. I’d rather gone off him because I didn’t like the changes in Joy, even though he made her so happy. I knew that was irrational, unfair and none of my business, I ought to make an effort to be less judgemental.

  “We’ll drive you home,” he said.

  “No, really, thanks, it’s…”

  He interrupted, “I insist,” he made to take my other arm but Brenda nodded to where Joy was neatly sliding the Rancho into a conveniently vacated spot, just behind where he’d pa
rked his car.

  “Your lovely wife’s been co-opted,” she said, “that way Stella will have her car at home.” Trevor was standing in front of us and Brenda made to walk round him. He didn’t immediately move but looked briefly back over his shoulder at Joy, who’d got out to open the back door to let Kat jump in.

  “I’m really not happy about Joy driving a strange car,” he said, adding with a small inclination of the head, towards me, “certainly not with such a precious cargo.”

  I might not like what was in his head, which at a quick glance showed not only his assessment of Joy’s abilities but the need, as always, to sort out the misguided and impulsive decisions women tend to make if left to their own devices. This was a man genuinely striving to do the right thing, even if underlying that was a slight air of martyrdom; it wasn’t easy every day, keeping an eye on the girls in his office, ensuring they didn’t do anything stupid and now here he was again, having to sort things out.

  “Don’t be so silly!” Brenda wasn’t a woman who welcomed instruction and she’d taken against him long before I had. She’d had a terrible shock with my stair dive, so didn’t need, didn’t want and didn’t intend, to stand on the pavement arguing. “It’s not a strange car.” She said, “Joy’s driven it a lot.”

  Trevor swung on his heel. “Joy?” he said. She was back in the driver’s seat and lowered the window.

  “Hi Darling, actually well yes, I have.”

  “Don’t remember you mentioning.”

  “Oh for goodness sake!” snapped Brenda, “she’s driven the car before; she’s driving it again. Follow if you want, but I’d like to get Stella home and resting,” and she moved us decisively past him, settled me in the front, got in the back and pulled the door sharply shut behind her.

  Joy hated to upset Trevor, he never deserved it and he was only making a fuss because he was over-protective, but right now she had her priorities, he had to understand that. She’d said she’d drive me home and that’s what she was going to do, she smiled at him.