The only thing to lift my spirits, the only reason I’m able to put this scenario into some kind of context and brighten my darkening mood, is the thought of having my next drink, later, after Carol leaves. As we pull up at the top of the driveway, Carol leans out of the window and punches in the code to open the gates. And I wonder, how many other people have my gate access code? Is this how my intruder got in? My next thought is how can I cunningly pour myself a drink without the watchful eye of Carol noticing? Before she leaves. In the next few minutes. As soon as I get through the door. Just the one.
If only she understood, if only I could tell her all, have a shoulder to share the dark memories with. If only they were just dark memories. Someone knows something, someone wants me to know, they know. I slouch into my seat on the driveway, a dogged tiredness weighing me down, the familiar churning of my stomach, as everyone else jumps out.
‘You not coming?’ Carol bangs on the car roof as I watch the backs of the children disappear around the side of the house. ‘You gone to sleep in there?’
I release the car door. The problem is I thought it was all over, buried somewhere in the forgotten past. But clearly it’s not. Clearly someone is intent on reminding me.
So much noise in my wired mind. A yearning for peace and quiet but too scared to be alone.
33
Edinburgh 2000
Andi
Total quietness greets me when I arrive back at the flat. The others must have late lectures. I’m surreptitiously pleased to have the place to myself, it doesn’t happen often enough. Being a bit of a loner in nature, sometimes, I need my own space. As much as I love my flatmates it can feel a little claustrophobic, there’s nearly always someone hanging around, with all the varying timetables. I drop my rucksack in the sitting room and make my way through to the kitchen. Unwrapping the new promising, calming, herbal teabags, I boil the kettle and light one of my favourite candles, then carry the soft sandalwood tones through to the bathroom. When I was tired, worried, or unwell, Mum would always fill me a deep bath, light me a candle and fetch me a warming drink.
In the bathroom, I pour the remainder of my Laura Mercier bath salts into the depths of the cast iron bath, a waft of crème brûlée filling my lungs. Just as I’m padding back along the corridor to fetch a towel, I’m startled by an unmistakable loud sobbing noise. I turn on my feet back to the bathroom to turn off the taps before returning to the landing. I’m not alone. I creep along the corridor to where the crying seems to be coming from, stopping outside my bedroom, it doesn’t take long to work out who it is. Gently pushing against the door separating us, I step over the threshold, the room is plunged in darkness, the floor length curtains drawn tightly. Camilla sits alone on the bed, feet pulled up underneath her, her head buried into her knees. Rocking gently forwards and backwards. I move towards her, perch down next to her and take her hand in mine.
‘Cam, honey, what is it? Has something happened? Is it your dad?’
She nods, sniffing loudly. I squeeze her hand, turning to reach for the box of tissues on the dressing table and offer one to her. She blows her nose noisily before burying her head sideways back into her knees.
I sit down on the bed close to her. ‘Oh Cam, he’s not…’ I’m too scared to say the words, I’ve not had much experience of death. I hold my breath.
After what feels like ages, she slowly shakes her head with it still balanced on her knees. Thank God, this is a relief at least. ‘What is it then, honey, what’s up?’
She releases another discordant sob from such a petite frame, then blows her nose before meeting my eyes. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you,’ she wipes at the mascara trickling south down her face. ‘I’ve been there today, at the home, well, all day really. Missed all my lectures, but I couldn’t leave him like that. I couldn’t leave.’ More tears fill her eyes, she blinks hard to fight them back, ‘it’s just, you know, so sad, And. Seeing him like this. It breaks my heart.’ She lets out another giant sob. ‘I don’t even know him any more. It really breaks my heart, And.’
‘I bet it does, it is so sad, I can’t begin to imagine how rotten it must be for you, seeing him like this. So cruel.’ I squeeze her hand. ‘I guess, you have to try and remember the good times. Other people who’ve been through similar times, I mean, with these kind of memory damaging, personality changing disorders, say – you must keep remembering the true person. The person they really are, before the brutal illness stole their identity. Don’t forget who your father really is, Cam. Even when he must seem so different now. He’s still there somewhere. Your dad.’
She nods at me, ‘but it’s so tough,’ flicking tear damp hair behind her shoulders. ‘It’s so hard to think about the person before this. Really, I don’t even think he realises who I am. I sat there for hours today, talking to him, telling him about my course, going over old times, with Mam too, like you say. I’m not sure if he had any recognition of any of it. I may as well have been talking to a stranger.’
‘But you have to believe, somewhere, deep down there will be recognition, Cam. Something you said will have meant something to him. It might be too difficult for him to show it to you, he might not understand how to articulate it but I’m sure, from my understanding of dementia.’ Camilla’s eyes meet mine, questioning. ‘My one grandmother had it, you see.’ I tell her. ‘We used to do lots of things to try and trigger her memory recollection. I’m sure you will have triggered some kind of memory for your dad.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ Camilla sniffs, before blowing her nose again.
‘I’m thinking it’s similar to Alzheimer’s, when it’s mostly the short-term memories that are inaccessible. But the old memories, the deep emotional ones, those that have real importance are all still there? Even when the person is unable to communicate this?’
She shrugs, ‘not sure, think so, probably, something like that anyway. I’ve tried, you know, and he doesn’t respond to any of the old memories either. I think the doctor said it can affect those too. Months back, the doctor used to try and explain it to me,’ Camilla frowns. ‘He, Dad, used to make loads of stuff up, he had a carer that visited him from time to time, he swore each time it was a different one,’ she shakes her head, ‘it was always the same woman. Used to come out with all these stories about what she’d got up to while she was there too. All lies. I used to get really angry with him, but the doctor, he said he couldn’t help it. Confabulation, he called it, said he made it up, because he couldn’t remember what really happened, then really believed he was telling the truth.’
I shake my head.
‘It was a bleeding nightmare. He used to tell me the new carer had drunk his bottles of ale. Then he’d watch the same TV show, over and over, swore blind it was the first time he’d seen it.’ Camilla laughs. ‘See, the doctor said, with this Korsakoff’s thing, sometimes the new memories are damaged, as well as having massive gaps in his old ones. But then he’d suddenly remember something about Mam from way back. But now, he doesn’t really show any awareness of our past, but then he’s asleep for most the time.’
‘I see,’ I say. ‘Perhaps you could take in some old photos, you know, some old family photos? Maybe those could trigger something.’
‘Maybe,’
I notice Camilla’s face cloud. ‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘The thing is, I’m pretty embarrassed to admit this, but I don’t have any photos. Not of him, me, us, Mam, nothing.’
Big tears roll from her eyes, this is so desperately sad, I thought everyone had family photos. Were they destroyed or worse, was her life really so deprived, void of all the little things I take for granted? I’ve been consumed with worry of how I’m going to explain to my family my reservations about Florida, now it feels indulgent and silly in comparison. ‘Oh Cam, I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Listen, why don’t I come with you next time, it might help to have some support. I could sit in the waiting room with a book if you’d prefer private time with Dad, but I’d be there at least, for w
hen you leave. It always feels worse having to go through difficult times alone.’
She shakes her head. ‘Thank you, but I really think this is something I need to do. I owe him this at least.’
‘Sure, I understand. But look, if there’s anything else I can do to help, or you change your mind, you only have to ask. Promise me you’ll ask at least?’
She nods before sighing heavily. ‘There is something else,’ she says, ‘something that’s been worrying me.’
‘What is it? Tell me.’
‘Me being here,’ she gestures around the room, ‘rent free, over staying my welcome. I said I’d only be here a few weeks probably, until I got myself straight again and—’
‘Shhh,’ I tell her, ‘now is not the time to be worrying about the unimportant stuff. It’s not a problem. I love having you here, stay for as long as you need. The rent makes no difference, the others make their contributions, so it’s fine. Tick this one worry off in your head, okay? It’s sorted.’
I’m not lying, I genuinely do enjoy having her around. She’s a breath of fresh air and every day I learn something new aside from the apparently coveted life I have lived so far. She’s teaching me a completely new perspective; a way of coping and I’m really hoping she’ll help me gain the strength to address my parents. I’ve spent far too long locked in my world. Too scared to step outside of it. In fact, the tremendous guilt I once felt regarding the Florida issue, is rapidly spiraling into resentment. Camilla wouldn’t feel pressured as I do. Camilla would find a way.
34
Cornwall 2017
Andi
Carol obviously doesn’t have any plans of leaving too soon, she’s outside playing referee to a pool volleyball game as I put together some kind of tea. The temptation to pour myself a drink, burning through me as I watch on. I keep justifying in my mind, why it would be okay, how it may help, maybe just this last day, then tomorrow – I’ll try harder. But after the shameful events of earlier, I daren’t. Not until she’s gone anyway. I mean, what’s the harm in it? Wouldn’t anyone following the challenging day I’ve had, think a little drink of something is a good idea? Why has it suddenly become such an issue for everyone, earlier today was an exception? When I say everyone, I’m only really referring to Carol and Kyle. I’m with the French, it has great benefits, health benefits too. To think Carol used to be such good fun, this bad patch she’s going through with Allan seems to have knocked it out of her. How come I’ve only just noticed what she’s really like?
All the time, I’m pushing away the images from the school gate earlier, charging down the road like a maniac, late. Sharing the aromas of alcohol with all I passed. It wasn’t the best but it’s not exactly crime of the century. It’s not like I’m an alcoholic. I only drink because I choose to, it helps me relax. To forget. I’ve a wooden log wedged in my mind, creating a blockage, stopping me from crossing the border of thoughts swimming in my past. It’s been there, stable, for years. Until these weird recent events, I thought it reasonably secure.
‘How long for food?’ Carol’s voice rings through the kitchen, ‘we’re running low on energy out here. Or at least – I am. And I’ve more wrinkles now than ever, are you sure there’s no fast advancing aging chemicals in this water?’
‘Ready in five,’ I call back. Kyle’s home this weekend, I thought about inviting Carol and Allan for a meal on Saturday night. But, can I trust Carol? She could take it upon herself, justifying that somehow she’s doing me a favour to inform Kyle about earlier. Kyle and Carol are so close, I can almost see them now, whispering side by side in our kitchen, sharing knowing glances, clearing away the dinner plates. Watchful eyes counting how many slurps of wine I filch. When did my life become so controlled? I’ve always felt so comfortable with the two foremost adults in my life but I’m increasingly beginning to feel guarded around them. I’m pretty sure Carol will always side with Kyle if it came to having to choose loyalties. I’ve noticed the way she’s always looked at him. Kyle can do nothing wrong. Kyle is this… Kyle is that… Kyle. Kyle. Kyle. God what is happening to me? This is their doing and not mine, isn’t it?
Moments later, the children are noisily tucking into deli fresh quiche, salad and French sticks. Carol and I remove ourselves from the mêlée to sit on the separate small table overlooking the bay. Kyle and I used to sit here for morning coffee, these times are few and far between now, non-existent even. What happened to time? Our time? Across the estuary, I spot a fleet of impish looking sailing dinghies drifting away from the sailing school. We both look on silently, mesmerised by the graceful seamless activity. For the first time I can remember, a proper uncomfortable air has slithered between us. I’m wishing Carol would leave soon, just as she breaks the silence.
‘So, what’s up?’ She asks without looking away from the teal waters.
More questions, more scrutiny? ‘Up?’ She’s referring to my slip up earlier but I’m not going to indulge her. Why can’t she ever let things go?
‘Come on, And, you know full well what I’m talking about,’ she sighs dramatically, ‘earlier today?’
‘It’s no big deal Carol, please don’t make it into one.’ This self-righteous attitude is beginning to grate. None of us are perfect and despite what everyone thinks – I’m certainly not. Although, I’m beginning to think this is how Kyle views Carol and definitely how she views him.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘So turning up late and drunk at the school gates is normal behaviour for you, is it? Or for anyone?’
‘Please don’t be sarcastic, it’s not necessary. I wasn’t drunk either,’ I snap back. ‘A little late, yes, I’ve already explained why.’ I turn to face her. ‘Have you never been late anywhere?’
‘Yes, of course I have and drunk. Just not at the school gates in the middle of the afternoon,’ she nudges my leg under the table, ‘and neither have you. Unless of course I don’t know you at all, after all. I mean, you never even used to drink, And.’
That’s just it, Carol, isn’t it, you’ve hit the metaphorical nail on the head, you don’t know me, at all. But for sanity’s sake, I need to give you this one, at least to get you off my back. ‘Okay. Fair point. I’d had a bad morning, that’s all. So had a drink at lunch time. I’m not used to drinking during the day, and what with that and the sun, it must have gone straight to my head. Completely knocked me out for six, then I fell asleep.’
‘That’s more like it,’ she says, I feel about ten years old. ‘What happened this morning then? Why was it so bad?’
Do I want to tell her? Not really but I’m going to have to tell her something to get her off my case. ‘Remember, I told you about the estate agent turning up here? With an apparent appointment, booked by me?’ Carol nods. ‘And how odd it all is, as whoever it was who booked the appointment also gave my mobile number?’
‘Yesss,’ she says.
I glance at the children, now throwing grapes into each other’s mouths, most of them rolling towards the pool filter. I lower my voice. ‘Well. This morning as it was so hot, I decided to have a dip in the pool. Then, afterwards, whilst I was showering, I heard something, someone. Footsteps.’
‘Go, on,’ she leans in closer to me.
‘So, I grabbed my towel, calling out, hello, but no one replied,’ I gesture towards the back of the house, ‘the back doors were pushed back, so naturally, I was worried they’d gone into the house.’
Carol’s eyebrows rise, ‘and had they?’
‘I searched all over, I’ve got to tell you, I was petrified, physically shaking.’
‘I bet.’ Carol is frowning.
‘But no, couldn’t find anyone. But the thing is – there was no sight of anyone leaving by the front gate either. It was closed, locked, so they’d have needed to climb over the gate? It doesn’t make any sense; I mean – why would someone do that? If they were not up to no good.’ I breathe in sharply to catch my breath.
‘Are you sure?’ Carol asks.
‘About what?’
‘That you heard footsteps? You were in the shower after all; you could easily have been mistaken.’
‘I was not mistaken. I know what I heard. Footsteps definitely.’
‘Right. Let’s think about this sensibly. Perhaps, the agents had already put the feelers out, you know – alerting potential buyers. You know what they’re like, hungry for a quick bite. Someone may have been having a cheeky look around, expecting the house to be empty. We’ve all done it, especially round here, people assume houses like this,’ she circles her hand in the direction of the house, ‘well – they probably thought it was a holiday home, you know, only used twice a year.’
‘Hmm. Maybe, I’ve wondered the same.’
‘Makes perfect sense to me, I think probably you’re spooking yourself for no reason. Allowing your mind to play tricks on you.’
But what about the other stuff, the tweeter, the messages from the dead? The pervert stalker? The ladder? About the – someone, who seems to know something of my past? ‘Look, the thing is, that’s not all. This isn’t only about the footsteps, or the estate agent.’
‘Oh?’
What to tell her and what not to? I’m ashamed to admit it but I’m not mentioning the ladder incident because I can’t be certain I didn’t put it there. ‘I think I may have a stalker. I thought it was an online stalker at first, some lunatic nobody. But now I’m not so sure.’
Who I Am: A dark psychological thriller with a stunning twist Page 15