In Too Deep

by Samantha Hayes

  ‘Mrs Forrester?’

  When I looked up, a woman was standing in a doorway off the waiting room. She beckoned me through with a warm smile, and I offered her a nervous one in return. My legs felt weak and my heart pattered out a thin, uncontrollable beat.

  ‘Please, make yourself comfortable,’ she said, allowing me to go first into her consulting room.

  I think I forced out a thank you, a nice to meet you, but just stared at her hand as it reached out for me to shake. Paula wasn’t fazed by my near muteness and lack of social skills. She understood from the start.

  ‘Thanks for seeing me,’ I finally managed. I’d been thanking so many people those past few weeks, yet I was never sure for what.

  ‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘And a belated happy New Year to you.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘What brings you to me today, Mrs Forrester?’ She glanced at a thin file beside her on a glass-topped desk. The room was furnished minimally. ‘Is it OK to call you Gina?’

  ‘Yes, please do.’ I could answer that question easily enough.

  I’d not alluded to anything about my situation when I made the appointment. ‘It’s quite complicated,’ I began. ‘But in a nutshell, I need to find a way to cope. Figure out how not to fall apart, I suppose.’

  ‘OK . . .’ she said slowly, before pausing. It was a space filled with warmth. ‘Is there anything specific you’re having trouble coping with?’

  We were sitting in matching chairs – low and pale grey, comfortable yet not overly so. The room was painted pure white, I noticed, much fresher than the waiting area, and as I searched for the right words, I focused on the circular aubergine-coloured rug. My eyes tracked the pattern on it. Maze-like. I saw myself standing in the centre, turning in circles. Tiny and lost in the thick pile.

  ‘My husband went missing at the end of last November,’ I said robotically. It was the only way I could get it out, by making it sound as if it hadn’t really happened. As if I was an actor delivering a crucial line in a play.

  ‘That sounds really hard for you,’ Paula said as unemotionally as she could, yet I still registered the shock on her face, the slight widening of her pupils, the tightening of her facial muscles. I knew then that her mind would be racing with questions and scenarios, wanting all the details. I began with the events of that Saturday morning. It took nearly thirty minutes to get it out, and afterwards I felt exhausted.

  ‘Firstly,’ Paula said, abandoning her pen to the table. She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. ‘I’m hearing a lot of guilt and self-blame in your story. It may not seem possible now, but learning how to ease that guilt is going to help you.’

  I didn’t think I could do that.

  ‘And holding on to those new feelings will open doors for you, show you a new direction. Guilt has a habit of chasing after us, and I understand totally why you feel this way. When bad things happen, it’s human nature to find a cause, logical or not. And when you can’t find one, your mind can turn inwards, blaming yourself to help make sense of the situation. It’s actually quite clever, though wholly unhelpful in the long term.’

  But what if it was my fault? I wanted to blurt out. What if there’s stuff I can’t tell you, that I can’t tell anyone?

  ‘I’m always thinking there’s something I should have done differently,’ I said automatically. ‘Like, if I’d insisted Rick didn’t go to the shop, but rather made him stay home and help me get ready for our guests that evening. He wasn’t going to have time to read the paper anyway. Or I could have asked him to do the cleaning and dashed to the shop myself. Maybe I should have suggested he take the dog with him, and perhaps that would have changed things. There are so many alternatives.’

  Paula was nodding, her eyes big and dark and absorbent. Soaking up all my misery.

  ‘And if you’d done any of those things, you’re convinced he’d still be here, right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You’re experiencing these thoughts, which are all completely natural, by the way, but they’re controlling how you feel simply because there’s nothing else for you to process.’ She paused, allowing me to take it in. ‘There’s a big vacuum where reasoning and cause should be. Think of it like a colouring book, and you’re holding the pens. No one knows where your husband is, and the police don’t have any clues. That’s immense, Gina.’ Another pause as she searched for the right words.

  ‘But believe it or not, you can be in control of your thoughts, and I will help you find a new way to process what’s happened to you. It will take time and some work, but I will be here with you, helping you.’ She paused and smiled warmly again. The perfect punctuation.

  ‘To begin with, one of our goals will be to reframe things so that you can recognise how you had no control over what happened, just as you have no control over what I choose to do this afternoon, or what happens to anyone else in the world.’

  It was then that she lost me and my mind wandered. But you’re wrong, I thought, as I stared at her, though not really hearing her. Her mouth moved, goldfish-style, as I drifted away. What would Paula Nicholls have said if she knew what had happened a week before Rick vanished? Or in the months preceding that? What would the police have said, for that matter?

  It was only when Rick and I had arrived home from the supermarket, each of us simmering and barely talking as we’d unloaded the grocery bags from the boot and lugged them into the house, that we’d realised Hannah was unexpectedly home. We’d seen her coat dumped on the stairs, along with her travel bag.

  Should I tell Paula? I wondered. Would unloading on her make me feel better? I didn’t see how. What was done was done.

  Guilt and shame had already prevented me telling PC Lane about that morning when she’d questioned me for the thousandth time about mine and Rick’s relationship. No wonder he left you, I’d imagined her saying in an accusing tone, rolling her eyes, judging me. Though I’d also kept quiet because they’d probably have concluded that I’d done something terrible to him. Weighing it all up, I felt it was best left unsaid.

  But Paula was different. Something about her made me feel relaxed and at ease, made me start to consider that maybe what had happened to Rick wasn’t my fault.

  Was that something I could live with?

  ‘It’s just that . . .’

  The whole story sat precariously between my lips. One little spit and it would be out.

  ‘It’s just that I go over everything. Over and over and over, looking for the slightest hint of an explanation. Perhaps I didn’t give him enough attention that week. Was my cooking rubbish? Was I late back from work one too many times? That kind of thing.’

  Work.

  Paula nodded. She said nothing, though it was the kindness in her eyes that made me continue.

  ‘The week before he vanished, we’d had an argument.’

  There, it was out.

  ‘At the time, even though it was horrid, I didn’t think too much of it.’

  Liar!

  ‘We’d made up by the evening. It wasn’t until he didn’t come home the following Saturday morning that I even thought of it again. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d been simmering all week, brewing up a load of resentment.’ I bowed my head.

  Paula nodded, looking at me with a mix of understanding and what I thought was probably pity. She cost £55 for an hour. Nearly a pound a minute to let out my guilt.

  ‘It’s like having a bad taste I can’t get out of my mouth.’ I stopped, trying to work out the best way to explain about Rick and me. How close and perfectly matched we were.

  ‘The thing is,’ I went on, ‘is that we never argued. We didn’t resent each other, or keep things bottled up. We loved, laughed and cried our way through life together.’ I looked beyond Paula as Jacob flashed through my thoughts. ‘We were always there for each other. Through everything. Always. It never once occurred to me that one day he wouldn’t be beside me.’

  I looked away and saw the box of tissues
sitting on the low table between us; watched as my hand reached out for one.

  ‘I can’t face the rest of my life without him,’ I said. ‘And even more, I can’t face never knowing what happened.’

  Paula took a long, thoughtful breath. ‘Acceptance of the situation in the present moment is really important for you, Gina. What may or may not happen in the future, and certainly what has happened in the past, is allowing your thoughts to control you again. Yes, you can speculate, you can judge yourself by saying: “If only we hadn’t rowed about the price of the groceries or whatever, then he’d still be here today”—’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said, interrupting her, touching the tissue to my nose. I felt my eyes grow wide. ‘What we rowed about was way more serious than that.’

  I let out an incredulous laugh, staring at her for a second. I was unable to fathom why she thought I’d be bickering with Rick about something so mundane, even if it was just an example. I blew my nose, wishing I could describe the look of hurt on Rick’s face when he’d brought it up in the car on the way home.

  It had felt as though I’d killed him.

  ‘Rick, don’t . . .’ I’d said, trying to put a halt to it before it began. I’d felt sick since the start of the journey when he’d mentioned it. The tension between us had grown. ‘You have to believe me. I’d never do anything to hurt you, and I’d certainly never lie about it.’

  The way he’d glanced across at me from the driver’s seat, his jaw dancing a tight twitch, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel, giving away his thoughts, had made my heart deflate.

  He’d known I was lying. And I’d known that the damage had already been done.

  But I’d been floored by the way it had come out of nowhere, as if he’d been saving up the moment until we were locked away, sealed in the soundproof car together with no one to hear his accusation.

  I saw you . . . I know what you did . . .

  I swallowed. I hadn’t come here to lie to my counsellor. Paula needed to know everything in case she spotted a clue that I hadn’t, managed to slot a couple of pieces together which would magically reveal the precise coordinates of Rick’s whereabouts.

  ‘There was this one time,’ I said, already knowing I was going to leave stuff out, which I told myself wasn’t exactly lying. ‘It was a couple of weeks before we argued. Rick had wanted to surprise me with an early supper followed by a movie. He’d arrived unexpectedly at my office just as we were about to close one Friday evening. The other staff had gone and the front office was empty, so he came through to the back.’

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘He caught us off guard,’ I added, flopping my hands on to my lap. ‘But I can see how it wouldn’t have looked good. Especially not to Rick.’

  I looked away, speaking quickly in a voice that didn’t sound like mine. ‘Apparently, he saw Adrian, my co-worker, and me in an embrace – although it wasn’t really an embrace at all.’

  I said ‘apparently’ as if Rick could have been wrong, as if for a split second I hadn’t shocked myself for feeling that I was lost in the most perfect place in the world – even if it was with him.

  I closed my eyes in shame and whispered the rest.

  ‘My head was resting against Adrian’s chest, and his lips were on the top of my head. His arms were around me, and one hand was . . .’ I stopped. ‘It wouldn’t have looked good.’

  I caught Paula’s eye, suddenly finding her impossible to read.

  ‘Rick left the agency without me knowing he’d even been,’ I continued blankly. ‘I remember hearing a noise, so I pulled away from Adrian and went to look in case someone had come into the shop. I later realised it must have been Rick leaving. He stewed on it for a few days before bringing it up in the car.’

  A pot gently bubbling before finally boiling over.

  Twenty minutes later, I left Paula’s office. At the rates she charged, there wasn’t enough money in the world to purge how I was feeling as I forced one foot in front of the other, heading back to my car. No amount of cash could get rid of the shame. And what I hated the most was that wherever Rick was, whatever had become of him, he didn’t know the rest of it.

  Gina

  ‘What do you fancy, Mum?’ Hannah asks as we sit facing each other across the table.

  As Susan, the owner, predicted, the hotel restaurant is busy. Another party has just arrived, filling up the quaint, beamy room with chatter and warmth. It’s popular with the locals as well as hotel guests.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, trying not to sound downbeat.

  After our walk to the village, we went back to the room to freshen up before dinner. Rather, while Hannah used the bathroom, I lay on the bed and went over and over what Paula had said at the end of my first session a couple of months ago. For some reason it was on my mind. Out of all the appointments I’ve had, it was that first one that has stuck with me the most. Paula’s insightful words made so much sense, yet nothing had ever seemed so unattainable in my life. The peace she talked of me eventually reaching, whatever the outcome with Rick, still seemed as far away as the moon.

  All I’d achieved at the end of that first hour was humiliating myself. After I’d left, I’d waited for it to feel good, for the relief to wash through me, even though I’d never made it to the end of the story about me and Adrian.

  I’d never mentioned it again, and Paula hadn’t brought it up, always allowing me to take the lead in our sessions. I respect her for that. But sitting here now, watching as Hannah bites her lip in deep thought as she chooses from the menu, I realise that it isn’t the end of the story I should have told Paula. It’s the beginning.

  ‘Maybe I’ll have the chilli squid,’ I say, knowing Rick would go for that. ‘Why don’t you have the pâté? Look, it’s home-made.’

  I only suggest that because it would be Rick’s second favourite on the menu. As much as I love my daughter and her company, it’s him who should be sitting opposite me as we pick our starters, each choosing something different and swapping plates halfway through – sharing food then, later, sharing our bodies.

  ‘But it’s made from liver,’ Hannah says, pulling a face that makes her look like a kid again. ‘I’m going to have the soup.’

  ‘Really?’ Rick would never have chosen the soup.

  A young waitress takes our order and as she turns to go, I touch her wrist. ‘We’d like some drinks, too,’ I say quietly, pointing to the wine list and underlining a bottle of Pinot Grigio with my fingernail. Hannah opts for water, her voice slow and accusatory, and her eyes digging into me for a moment. The waitress nods and heads for the kitchen.

  ‘We missed you ladies in the bar earlier,’ a voice says from behind just as I’m unfolding the crisp linen napkin. Susan stands beside our table. Close up, her skin is soft with only a few tiny laughter lines appearing at the edges of her blue eyes as she stops for a chat. She’s wearing a sheer flowing top over skinny jeans and white chunky wedges.

  ‘We decided a bit of exploring was in order,’ I say. ‘The village is so beautiful.’ The truth is, Hannah frogmarched me away from the bar. She doesn’t know it, but I am grateful to her.

  ‘It’s lovely this time of year, but gets very crowded in the summer.’ Susan leans forward on the table, showing me her forearms are strong and lean. The colour of her skin is a shade or two more tanned than you’d expect in the spring, making me wonder if she’s been away.

  ‘You’re very lucky to live here,’ I say.

  ‘Not a day goes by when my husband and I don’t think exactly that,’ she says, smiling, looking me over.

  A few months ago I’d have given her a run for her money in the looks department, but over the winter my skin has faded to a dry, mushroomy grey, making my eyes dark and shadowy. Handfuls of my hair come out every time I wash it.

  ‘Seems as though we’ve been here for ever,’ she continues. ‘We met and married young. And we’re still together.’ Her smile intensifies and her eyes sparkle. ‘Unbelievably.�
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  What she says cuts deep, but it’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with these feelings. Since last November, it’s amazing how many wonderful husbands I’ve heard about, how many everlasting marriages there are in the world, how couples mine and Rick’s ages are going on second honeymoons once the kids go off to university. Husbands, it seems, are everywhere.

  ‘There’s a secret to it, though,’ she says, her laugh getting my attention again. Her teeth are straight and white, while her neck is long and elegant as she tilts it back.

  ‘Secret?’ I say, looking up at her, feeling the first prickles of a sweat.

  ‘I put it down to not being in each other’s pockets all the time,’ she explains. ‘Phil’s often away for work.’

  She picks up my wine glass.

  ‘There’s a smear,’ she says, wiping it with a napkin.

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a surveyor for an oil company. He travels all over the world, often staying months in one site, and often quite remote places.’ Susan holds up the glass and inspects it, nodding and putting it back down.

  ‘That must be tough,’ I say. ‘For both of you.’

  Suddenly, I feel a really strong connection with her. Paula said this might happen, that it’s natural to latch on to anyone in an even vaguely similar situation, to feel attracted and drawn to them, especially those who seem empathic.

  ‘You’re used to being alone then?’ I say, hating myself for half hoping that she’s also lost a child, making her understand me completely, making her realise why I’m sitting here drinking too much wine and constantly checking my phone for news.

  ‘We both are,’ she says, though she hesitates, almost as if she wants to say something else but thinks better of it. ‘I knew what I was getting into from the start. Phil’s been career-minded since we met.’

  Then that laugh again, and her smiling, curious eyes mapping me. ‘And what does your husband do, Gina?’ She touches her hand lightly on my shoulder. ‘Though really I should be asking you that question. We are not defined by our men!’ A more exuberant laugh turns heads.