by HC Michaels
He added a few more scribbles to his notepad. “Do you think the lack of desire to have your own child has anything to do with your experiences with Amber?”
“Why all these questions about Amber?” She frowned. She’d finally gotten that spoilt brat out of her life and now all Dr Addison seemed to want to talk about was her.
“I’m just trying to understand your family unit,” he said, waving his pen.
“She’s not my family.” Skye’s words contained more venom than intended and she smiled to disguise it. “My family unit is me and Theo. Was me and Theo. That was the way I liked it. He was a lot older than me and as he already had a child, I thought he wouldn’t be too worried about having more. That was exactly why he’d seemed my perfect match. He was such a catch. And to think I hadn’t even known I was fishing.”
She laughed, not surprised to find Dr Addison with a forced smile on his face. He was a tough crowd. Perhaps he’d seen through her. She’d absolutely known she was fishing. She’d had her line cast in the water for a long time when she met Theo. He wasn’t the first to proposition her. Far from it. He was just the first who ticked all her boxes. As a result, she’d let him tick her box, so to speak.
“He was besotted with me when we met,” she continued. “He was a sworn bachelor when he first saw me on television. Apparently, he stood up and announced he’d just seen the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. I wrote articles about our romance. It was like a fairy tale. The public loved it.”
She remembered how carefully she’d crafted those articles, taking great care to show Dean proper respect by giving the stories the angle of finding love when your heart is broken. She explained to the readers that Dean would’ve wanted her to get on with her life and find happiness once more. If she looked like she’d moved on too quickly she’d lose the public’s respect, which would no doubt lead to the loss of followers.
She obviously found the right tone as the public embraced her new relationship and she’d been showered with messages wishing her well and telling her how strong she was.
“Approval can be a heady feeling, can’t it?” said Dr Addison, nodding. He wasn’t even looking at his notepad while he made his next scribble.
“I loved it,” she said. “It was like a drug. Afterwards, I tried writing articles on more general topics, but they never created much interest. It was my personal life the public liked reading about and once there wasn’t much else going on, they lost interest in me. They moved on to people who wrote about their children, divorces or health scares. It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t write about any of those topics.”
“You must’ve enjoyed writing about having cancer then?” he asked, keeping his voice level.
“Believe me, it wasn’t easy,” she explained. “They were the most difficult stories I’ve ever written. I had to be so careful with what I said. You know, the right balance of information and emotion. I cried when I wrote them.”
“Why do you think that was?” He tilted his head, seeming genuinely interested in her response.
“It was sort of like watching a sad movie,” she said. “I got swept up in the emotion, believing the story was real, despite knowing it wasn’t.”
He nodded. “Interesting.”
“So, to answer the first question you asked me,” she said as the situation crystallised in her mind. “That was exactly how my lie began. If life hands you lemonade, you can always find a way to extract the lemons.”
Dr Addison’s face screwed up like she’d just handed him one of her lemons to suck on. He caught himself and quickly fashioned his expression back into a smile.
He needn’t have bothered. She was smiling enough for the both of them. She wasn’t a bad person. She’d just been entirely misunderstood.
“Why don’t you tell me a little more about the rest of your family?” suggested Dr Addison, seeming to be trying to move the conversation to a less acidic topic.
“There’s no rest of my family,” she said, disappointed. This wasn’t a topic she was keen to discuss. She’d thought he’d want to hear more about Theo. He’d just died! Didn’t he want to talk about her grief?
“Nobody at all?” he asked.
“Just my mother, but she doesn’t count.”
She’d bet he already knew about her mother. Anybody who knew anything about her case knew Clara had been poisoned alongside Theo and George. Her mother had become famous all over again.
“Tell me about her.” Dr Addison leant forward to show he was listening.
“She was a ballerina.”
Skye had used this simple sentence thousands of times over the years to describe her mother. It was like ballet hadn’t been just something she did, it was who she was. She wasn’t a woman who did ballet. She was a ballerina who also happened to be a woman.
“What kind of a mother was she?” asked Dr Addison.
Frustration brewed in Skye’s stomach. She took a deep breath trying to stem the flow of words that bubbled up as she reminded herself where she was. There was no need to stop her words or sugar-coat them. She could tell the truth in a way she’d never been able to before.
“Imagine growing up knowing your mother wished you never existed,” Skye bit out. “I was resented with the same amount of passion she once put into her dancing. It was the one constant I had growing up—the knowledge I ruined her life.”
“Hmm. That kind of environment would have a significant impact on a person,” he said, seeming to ignore her pent-up anger spilling into the room.
“It did. It was chaotic. Mum was in some kind of trance most of the time and the house was a pigsty. Everywhere I looked there was mess. It was out of control. Except for my bedroom, of course. Mum wasn’t allowed in there.”
“Your room was tidy?” he asked.
She nodded. “It was my only sanctuary from her filth. It was my coping mechanism, I suppose.” Now she was sounding like a shrink. Maybe she should let him do the shrinking while she did the talking.
“That does sound like an effective coping mechanism. Do you think you’ve carried it on over into adulthood?” He tapped at his chin.
She smiled. “You should see my house. Everything in its place, clean and white. I love it. I feel so at peace there.”
That must’ve been worthy of a note as he scribbled madly. “What does the colour white mean to you?”
“It’s my favourite colour. It doesn’t hide anything. It can’t. I mean, if something’s white then you can really tell if it’s dirty. The only way for it to look clean is if it actually is.” Skye craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Dr Addison’s notes. “Do you think I like the colour white because of my childhood?”
“It’s very likely.” He moved his hand to cover his writing. “It sounds like it gives you a sense of control over your life. What do you think?”
“Maybe.” She raised her eyebrows, never having thought about it like that before.
“Is it working for you?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
He looked at her, waiting for her to go on.
“No, it’s not.” She thew out her hands. “Look, I do my best. I thought I was doing okay, but lately ... I just have no control with everything that’s going on. This isn’t how I wanted things to turn out.”
“I can’t imagine it is. Tell me, Skye, are you taking any medications?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I hate medicine. I mean, before all this happened, I was taking diet pills, so I’d look sick. And some Ipecac syrup to make me vomit, but other than that, I never take anything stronger than a headache tablet. I don’t even drink alcohol. Never touch the stuff.”
“Why do you think that is?” He tapped his chin again, like he could release the answers.
She paused. “Same reason as the white. I like to feel in control.”
“It’s starting to make some sense now, isn’t it?” He smiled.
“A little, I guess.”
It was. The more she talked to
Dr Addison, the more she was understanding about herself. She’d never given some of these quirks to her personality much thought before.
“So where did your father fit into your chaotic childhood?” he asked.
“I don’t have a father.” She adjusted her hat as it scratched at her scalp. “Well, I mean, of course I have a father, it’s just that I don’t know him.”
“You know nothing of him?” Dr Addison seemed surprised.
“He went back to France before I was born.” She worked at holding back her tears. “You know, I could never understand why he didn’t want to meet me. I’m his daughter. His own flesh and blood.”
“Sadly, it does happen.” Dr Addison blinked, kindly. “So, you’ve never heard from him at all?”
“I did get a letter from him recently. The first time I’ve ever heard from him in my life.” She crossed her arms, still feeling the pain of him rejecting her as a child.
“That sounds significant. Your first contact with your father.” He nodded as he waited for her to elaborate.
“He lives on a farm in France, has five sons and was married to a selfish woman who hid most of the letters I sent him. She’s dead now, which is why he decided to write back. He said he was sorry to hear about my cancer. That was basically it.”
Dr Addison made a humming sound. “He knew about your cancer?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She didn’t want to admit she’d been the one to tell him. Let Dr Addison think he found out some other way. “It doesn’t matter now. I don’t need him. I never did.”
Dr Addison wrote something down, leading Skye to suspect he wasn’t done asking about her father. Not that there’d be much point in that.
Fathers were even more overrated than mothers. Children could live without them. She’d turned out just fine with no father and only half a mother. She knew people gossiped about her when she married Theo, saying she was looking for a father figure. She’d read their comments online and they were upsetting, mainly because they were wrong.
“Do you still see your mother?” he asked.
She sighed. He knew the answer to this. She was being accused of attempting to murder her by bringing her poison brownies each week. Of course, she still saw her.
“As you’re probably aware, she has dementia.” Skye gave Dr Addison a tight-lipped smile. “I visit her nursing home every week. Well, I did, before all this happened.”
“And what was your relationship with her like in recent years?” he asked.
“Good. Better than good. It was fantastic!” Skye sighed. “She finally saw me for who I was. She even seemed to love me. She told me I was gorgeous once. If I can be honest ...”
“Please Skye, you must be honest.” His eyes opened wide in anticipation of what she was about to say.
“I never loved her more than when she had dementia.” Skye sat forward in her chair. “That’s why I didn’t try to kill her. Why would I do that?”
He looked at her with a forced blank expression. He thought she was guilty. It was as obvious as if he’d come out and said it.
“Do you think your mother has anything to do with you not wanting children?” he asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Skye threw out her hands. “Why do you keep asking me about this? I thought we covered it earlier. You think I don’t want to have children because I’m like my mother?”
She fought the urge to stand and run from the room.
“I didn’t say that—”
“I’m nothing like my mother. She didn’t want a child because she didn’t want to ruin her precious career. Or her figure. I don’t want one because ... well, because it’s far better not to have a child at all than to have one and treat them the way my mother treated me. Children don’t ask to be born, so if their parents are stupid enough to have them then they should at least love them.” She sat back, surprised she’d been as honest as this. But maybe it needed to be said.
He scratched at his chin again. “You’re worried you’d raise a child in the way you were raised?”
“No! Because I’m not having one.” Her feet planted on the floor as she prepared to stand. “That’s my whole point. And anyway, what I don’t get is why it’s so wrong not to want to procreate? Who made the rule saying it’s compulsory for every woman to want to have a baby? I should receive a bloody medal for my attitude, not your disapproval. And just for the record, my mother didn’t raise me. I raised myself.”
“Skye, please. I’m not judging your actions. I’m just trying to understand them. There’s a difference.” He held up his palm, trying to calm her.
“I think I’ve had enough today. Are we done?” No longer able to resist the urge, she stood. She didn’t have to explain herself to anyone. She was paying Dr Addison. It was her decision what she spoke about, not his.
Dr Addison looked at the clock on his wall. “Yes, I think that’s enough for today. Although, I’d like to discuss your grief over losing your husband a little more next time. We’ve barely touched on that. We’ve covered a lot of ground today.”
They had. Her head was bursting with things she wanted to go home and think about, starting with Theo and how much she missed him. Why would she kill the only person in this world she actually loved?
Skye smiled to find her house quiet. It was always quiet these days. Thank goodness Amber had moved out before Theo died. She couldn’t imagine having to live in the same house as her without Theo as a buffer.
She went straight to the library. Really, it was more of a study, but she preferred to call it a library. Rich people in the movies always had libraries.
She had a stand-up desk in front of the bay window where she did most of her work. She liked looking out at the front garden. Except in autumn when the mess the trees made would irritate her so much she’d need to close the blinds until the gardener was able to clean it all up.
Before she’d moved in, the bookshelves were filled with fake books, the sort that have spines, but nothing inside. She’d gotten rid of them immediately, filling the shelves with a variety of books she selected based on their colour of their covers—white, of course. There was everything from Charles Dickens to Maeve Binchy to Tim Winton.
The books were arranged in groups according to the colour of the writing on the spine, yellows and pale blues near the top and the bolder colours at the bottom. She was glad Dr Addison couldn’t see them. He’d get so excited, he’d probably wet his pants.
The police had taken away her laptop. That was even more irritating than the trees losing their leaves. It was a complete invasion of privacy. If she didn’t get it back soon, she was going to have to ask Mariana to courier her a replacement. As soon as the police finished their investigation and realised she was innocent she’d need to write something to set the record straight. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, except for the cancer thing. But people would get over that. Hopefully.
Theo’s computer was also missing from his den. He didn’t like to call it a study, either. They both seemed to be allergic to that word. She hadn’t been in there since the police turned it upside-down.
She’d closed the door after they left, and it’d stayed that way. It was too depressing to go in there and know she’d never see Theo sitting behind his large, dark oak desk again.
She opened the top drawer of her filing cabinet and found her cheque book. She hardly ever wrote cheques anymore. It was a shame. She liked the feeling it gave her when she scribbled her signature across the bottom and tore it from the book.
Sophie had been leaving her messages about Theo’s funeral arrangements. Typical of George to get his wife to do his dirty work. Although, he had just gotten out of hospital, she supposed.
Theo had once said he wanted a service in the Greek church he went to as a kid. She wished she’d paid more attention. She couldn’t even remember where it was. George would know. It’d be better if he organised it. At least he’d get the details right.
How much did funerals cost anyway? The
y were expensive no doubt. They had to be. Would ten grand be enough? Twenty maybe? It was hard to know.
She wrote a cheque for fifty thousand dollars in George’s name and put it in an envelope. Better to err on the side of being over generous. It wouldn’t be right for Theo to have a budget funeral.
This thought sent tears rolling down Skye’s cheeks. Theo hated hospitals. She hated funerals. She’d thought the day Dean died would be the worst day of her life, but she was wrong. His funeral was far worse because that was when it hit her that he was gone forever. And forever is a bloody long time. She’d fainted twice during his service and had to be carried from the church by Dean’s brother.
She had no desire to repeat that experience. Who would carry her from the church this time? If she fainted at Theo’s funeral, George would probably take the opportunity to kick her in the ribs. No doubt his whole family thought she was responsible for Theo’s death. Greeks weren’t exactly known for their subtlety.
Then there was the whole cancer issue. She’d have the yia-yias in their black veils trying to hit her over the head with their handbags every chance they got.
No, she couldn’t stand to be there. She wasn’t going to go. She’d do her grieving in private. No doubt everyone would take this as a further sign of her guilt, but she’d long ago given up caring what Theo’s family thought of her.
She guessed George would have Theo buried at Fawkner cemetery next to their parents. She couldn’t think of a more depressing place to spend the rest of eternity. It wasn’t one of those pretty cemeteries with trees and rolling hills. This was a large piece of flat ground out in the suburbs with miles of marble headstones reaching out from the ground like something you’d see in a horror movie.
She wouldn’t visit his grave, either. If she lay in their bed, she could still smell his scent. That was the place to talk to him and shed her tears, not in some field of marble.
Theo would understand. He always had.
What she couldn’t understand was why the police had started asking her questions about Dean’s death. That all happened years ago. Why would they ask now? It was almost as if they were insinuating she’d reached across the car and pulled on the steering wheel to crash him into the pole. They’d decided she killed Theo and were trying to turn her into some kind of serial killer. It was offensive. Not to mention damaging for her reputation. And… okay, it was scary as well.