Everything You Told Me

by Lucy Dawson

  There is a creak on the floorboards outside our room. Someone is walking past to Theo’s bedroom.

  ‘Great. Now Mum’s gone in and he’ll get properly upset.’ I throw an arm up in exasperation. ‘He doesn’t know her well enough for her to be doing this. He’ll freak out.’

  ‘What are you talking about? He saw her all last weekend for Easter, and she’s been here all today. They arrived at seven a.m., Sal. She put him down for his nap this morning, and after lunch.’

  I sink back down onto the bed and put my head in my hands in frustration, as I try to stay calm. ‘Look, could you all please just let me do what I’ve been managing on my own for the last half a year? If you really want to help, that’s what you can do.’

  Through the monitor, we hear Mum whisper firmly to Theo, ‘Night, night, Theo, time to settle down and go to sleep. Night, night, darling,’ followed by the sound of his door gently closing. There is a brief pause, and then Theo goes absolutely ballistic.

  ‘See?’ I say, almost relieved, and stand up – but then, just as suddenly, there is silence. Theo simply stops. I actually hear him sigh. And then there is quiet, apart from another creak on the floorboards as Mum makes her way back downstairs. I gape in disbelief, partly at the ease with which that just happened – and partly at the total, brutal unfairness of it when I have been trying so, so hard, for so long to get him to do exactly what he’s just done in under a minute.

  ‘Just let us help you, Sally,’ Matthew pleads quietly. ‘Come on, let’s go downstairs and ask Mum about this “blocking things out” theory.’

  Caroline and I sit in the playroom while the others tactfully retreat into the sitting room. I’m huddled on the sofa, clutching a mug of tea that Mum insists on making me, and Caroline sits on the floor, leaning her elbow on the sofa, as it’s slightly too small for both of us to sit on at the same time – we’d practically be on each other’s laps.

  ‘You don’t have to do this, Sally.’ She looks up at me. ‘I just want you to know that, but by all means talk to me if you want to. It goes without saying that I won’t discuss anything with anyone else – unless, of course, I think you’re a danger to yourself, or someone else. But I honestly think you’d be better talking to someone who is removed from your situation, and has no connection to you at all. Your GP can arrange that, or I can recommend some colleagues – none of whom would discuss whatever you said with me, I hasten to add.’

  ‘I want to ask you more about Kelly.’ I lower my voice discreetly, and her smile fades. ‘Has she tried to make any further contact with you?’

  Caroline looks over her shoulder at the closed door, and then turns back to me. ‘No, she hasn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t see her doing anything suspicious while she was here, did you? While I was upstairs with Theo?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She pauses. ‘I heard her car pull off the drive, but I stayed in the bedroom like we agreed, so she wouldn’t see me.’

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet, but Theo woke up just after she arrived – or rather, she woke him up – and I left her downstairs. She would have had time to pick up your bag and put it straight in her car, and she knew it was there, she’d seen it earlier. I know you can’t tell me if she’s ever done anything like this in the past, but let me put it to you this way: do you think she’s capable of stealing that money?’

  Caroline hesitates. ‘Yes, she is, but… do you have proof that’s what she’s done?’

  ‘It wasn’t me, Caroline.’ I look her right in the eye. ‘I promise you it wasn’t. I’m appalled at you losing sixty-five thousand pounds. It’s a huge sum of money! Surely you want to report this to the police?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, I don’t. I’m not having you put under that level of stress and scrutiny. It’s not fair, and it’s not worth it. It’s one thing to have the police think that this is an attempted suicide – which, very sadly, I have to tell you they are used to dealing with all the time – and quite another to bring a significant theft into the equation.’

  ‘You’re going to let her get away with it?’

  ‘I take it you don’t actually have proof that Kelly took the money, then?’ she says gently. ‘In which case, what option do we have? Accusing her would create a firestorm that I can’t even begin to explain to you. There is a Chinese proverb that reads: “If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow”, and another that says: “If you corner a dog in a dead end, it will turn and bite”. Both are very sound recommendations in this case. Whether it was Kelly who took the money – or something else happened to it – I’m going to consider its loss a worthwhile investment in peacekeeping, and you should do the same. Let’s just leave it there.’

  I look at her in shock. ‘But—’

  ‘Now, Matthew said you have some questions about repressing memories,’ she says firmly.

  ‘I don’t – he and my mother seem to think it’s a possible explanation for what’s happened.’

  ‘OK.’ She rubs her eyes tiredly, and just for a moment looks exactly like Matthew, and Chloe. ‘Well, I think you’re talking about psychogenic amnesia or dissociative amnesia.’

  ‘Amnesia? You mean like Jason Bourne, when he blanks everything out because he can’t cope with having assassinated that married couple with the little girl?’

  ‘Sort of, in that it goes well beyond normal forgetfulness, but the kind of personal identity loss you see in the movies is very rare in real life. You’re talking – or Matthew and your mum are talking – I think, about situation-specific amnesia, which might result from an overwhelming event: a post-traumatic stress, if you will. The hypothesis is that whatever happens is so psychologically painful, or horrific, that the brain simply “shuts out” the event, and the repressed memory, or memories, only resurface over time, perhaps with therapy or because they are triggered by another memory or event. Cases have been documented where some sufferers were unable to remember trying to kill themselves several hours previously.’ She pauses. ‘But equally, a person with this kind of amnesia will usually repeatedly have periods where they can’t remember information about themselves, and that’s not applicable in this case. People can also have what are known as “fugues”, which is where they might travel to a new location during a temporary loss of memory or identity. But that usually happens over a period of days. Neither of these conditions fit your scenario, Sally, although I should stress I’m not making a formal diagnosis here,’ she warns. ‘That would be totally inappropriate on numerous levels.’

  ‘But you don’t think I blocked anything out deliberately?’

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but looks at me, contemplatively. ‘I don’t think you can repress something that never happened in the first place, no. But like I said, this is not a formal diagnosis.’ She gets to her feet. ‘You should know that Matthew and your parents have all asked me to stay tonight, in a professional capacity. I’ve said that I don’t think it’s necessary, because I don’t.’

  ‘Thank you.’ That’s a vote of confidence at least.

  ‘I’ll come back in the morning, though, first thing. Hopefully that will placate them.’

  ‘Fine. Whatever they want.’

  ‘OK.’ She nods. ‘I’ll go and let them know. Now, before I do: I’m happy to give you a sleeping tablet tonight. It seems your mum has broken Theo, in the nicest possible way, so you could let her take over.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ I will prove to them all that it’s business as normal.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave it in the bathroom so you can have it if you want, and not if you don’t. I must say, I think it was rather unfair of Theo to acquiesce quite so quickly, but I now seem to remember it being a common thing in years gone by – the idea that you’d break a baby’s bad sleep cycle by someone else taking over other than the mother. I wish I’d thought of it sooner to help you. Anyway, at least you might get some rest now, I suppose.’

  ‘Caroline, I’m sorry,
but I’m not finished yet. I still need to talk to you about Kelly’s intentions towards Chloe and Theo, as we discussed yesterday. Exactly why are you afraid for the children?’

  She sighs, and then sits back down. ‘Yes, I’ve been worried about what I said to you, and wondering if I let my own feelings as a concerned grandmother overwhelm my professional objectivity. Put more crudely, did I overreact in the heat of the moment on seeing Kelly, and should I have exercised more caution over what I said? Almost certainly. It was completely irresponsible of me to have frightened you badly without being able to be specific, and I’m so very sorry. I do want to reassure you, though, that if I had anything concrete to go on that represented a threat to Theo and Chloe now, I would be the first person alerting the authorities. What we talked about last night—’

  ‘Kelly being dangerously toxic, and because of not being able to have her own children, possibly having designs on mine, you mean?’ I remind her pointedly. ‘That’s pretty specific, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hang on. I understand why you’re reacting like this, Sally, but I’d like to explain – and say what I should have last night. I genuinely don’t believe there is anything to be gained from unnecessarily kicking a hornets’ nest. Everyone, including Kelly, has a right to a past, and it’s something none of us can escape. Does that, however, mean it must always affect how we are viewed going forward? In an ideal world, no. But,’ she holds up a hand as I begin to protest, ‘I do think it’s appropriate that we exercise a degree of caution. I told you I was intervening because I was concerned about Chloe and Theo potentially being placed in the sole care of a particular person. Now I’ve brought it to your attention, I don’t believe it will be an issue any more, and I’m certainly confident that there are enough of us physically here at the moment and around the children that it’s not something we need to worry about right now. I would much rather be focusing on you, and getting you the help you need.’

  ‘Yes, well that’s the other thing,’ I say. ‘I don’t think I need any help. I found a shopping list on my phone for items I intended to buy today, and I’d started a timer off last night so I knew when I next needed to feed Theo. Those aren’t the actions of someone who was planning to kill herself, are they?’

  Caroline looks at me sympathetically, but says nothing, and I must admit, spoken aloud they don’t sound hugely compelling arguments.

  ‘More importantly, though,’ I clear my throat, ‘I’m now certain I could never do something like that to Chloe or Theo. I know it seems pretty damning, my having that note in my pocket, but I didn’t put it there, and I genuinely can’t remember anything from after I went to bed. So where does that leave us? Someone must know what happened to me.’

  Caroline looks startled. ‘You think Kelly had something to do with your disappearance? That’s what you’re suggesting?’

  I hesitate. ‘Well, she certainly hates me – she genuinely believes I’m trying to break up her and Will. In fairness,’ I confess, looking Caroline straight in the eye, ‘she’s right. If I could, I would.’ I think about Kelly standing inches away from my face, whispering her threats. ‘I very nearly fell when I was on that clifftop, Caroline – and I can’t help but think that would have suited Kelly very nicely indeed. She’d have protected her relationship with my brother, and she’d have stood to be far more directly involved in Chloe and Theo’s lives. She was also the last person I saw before I woke up three hundred miles away, having told me that if I wanted a fight, I’d got one.’

  ‘You’d argued?’ Caroline says, looking deeply troubled. ‘What about?’

  ‘Will! She accused me of trying to come between them, and told me she was going to marry him – come what may.’

  Caroline exhales, heavily.

  I fall silent for a moment. ‘So would your advice still be to stand by and let my brother marry her, when he’s completely unaware what she is capable of?’

  ‘Oh Sally, people are capable of lots of things,’ she says gently. ‘It’s whether they actually do something that matters. This isn’t a battle you should be focusing on right now.’

  ‘You don’t believe she was involved then?’

  ‘I can see now that perhaps I shouldn’t have discussed my fears with you at all. I’m so very sorry. It’s coloured your whole attitude towards Kelly, and that’s dreadfully unfortunate. Lord, I’ve made such a mess of all of this.’ She closes her eyes for a moment. ‘Look, as far as Kelly goes, I wouldn’t give her any more cause to believe she’s right and that you are trying to break her and Will up. Don’t go looking for trouble, and it won’t come looking for you. Forget the money too, it’s done – it’s gone. Please don’t worry about the children, because they are safe, I promise you. And if you say you don’t need any help going forward, then OK. I trust you. So, in answer to your question,’ she gets to her feet once more, ‘that’s where we’re left: armed and forewarned, but heading into a fresh start nonetheless. Now, it’s time we all went to bed.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Our bedroom door is, as usual, wide open so we can hear Chloe if she gets up, but with the exception of the familiar whir of Theo’s wind machine humming through the monitor, the house is silent. It’s only ten p.m., but Matthew, my parents and the children are all asleep.

  Ordinarily I would be luxuriating in this, savouring the warmth of the bed, the softness of the pillow, and the peace, but instead, I am turned on one side, facing away from Matthew. I can’t switch off. Caroline still believes I tried to kill myself. She looked at me like she might a child, badly fibbing to cover something they’ve done wrong, when I tried to discuss Kelly’s possible involvement in my winding up on that clifftop.

  Is it really so completely ludicrous an accusation, though?

  Or, actually, bang on the missing money?

  Why the hell can’t I remember what actually happened?

  I twist to face Matthew, but still unable to settle comfortably, turn back just as quickly. I simply do not understand how ten hours of my life can be a complete blank. How is that even possible?

  I snatch up my phone in frustration and google memory loss.

  If you’re reading this because you’re worried you have dementia, rest assured you probably haven’t. A person with dementia won’t have an awareness of their memory loss. More common causes of memory loss are depression, stress or anxiety.

  Matthew sighs restlessly in his sleep, disturbed by my moving about, and turns over. I momentarily freeze, then quickly place my phone face down on the mattress, in case the lit screen wakes him properly. I’m so used to Matthew choosing to sleep in the spare room that having him lying next to me again feels really weird. I wait for a moment for him to re-settle, then start again, clicking on depression first.

  Depression is about more than simply feeling unhappy or fed up for a few days. Depression affects people in different ways and can cause a wide variety of symptoms. At its mildest, you may just feel persistently low in spirit, while at its most severe, depression can make you feel suicidal and that life is not worth living.

  This is no good – it’s just a definition of depression itself, nothing to do with memory loss at all. I sigh, exasperated, and am about to put my mobile down, when I remember Matthew in tears earlier, having found that information about divorce on my phone. I quickly clear the search completely and set the phone carefully back on the bedside table, before turning over – at which point I jump horribly, because Matthew is lying there, eyes wide open, quietly watching me.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ I gasp. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Catching you clearing stuff off your phone about depression causing suicidal thoughts.’

  I flush. ‘I was looking up causes of memory loss. One of which is apparently depression.’

  He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me.

  ‘Matthew, you didn’t “catch” me doing anything. I swear!’

  ‘Last night, when you were missing,’ he ignores me, ‘I phoned Liv from your phone, in case she
knew where you were, but she didn’t. Like all of us, she was beside herself. Once you’d been found safe this morning, I called her back, to let her know, and when I told her the circumstances, she was horrified. Then she confessed you’d sent her text messages over the last couple of days that she hadn’t taken seriously, saying things like “this baby is breaking me” and “I hate my life”.’ He pauses for a moment, and I agree, it does sound truly awful, spoken so baldly like that, completely out of context.

  ‘You must know I didn’t mean it literally, though, surely?’ I say slowly. ‘Everyone does that sort of thing, all the time!’

  ‘I don’t,’ he says. ‘I don’t tell my mates I hate my life.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Matthew. I don’t actually hate it – it’s just a whingey thing you say when you’re knackered. That’s all.’

  ‘She knew all about our row, and told me you’d asked for some advice about divorce.’

  ‘Hey, back up a bit.’ I move away from him, urgently. ‘I asked her if it was normal for a couple to discuss divorce, and yet not mean it. Anyway, Matthew, it doesn’t matter what Liv said. I’m telling you that wasn’t how it was. She—’

  ‘And then she told me this isn’t the first time you’ve tried to kill yourself.’

  I freeze for two, maybe three seconds, before the shock of his words implodes in my head and I’m dragged backwards into a vacuum, where everything starts rushing past me; like falling through the inside of a kaleidoscope – brightly coloured shards of my life flashing by – until with a jolt, I arrive at my small room at university. I can see myself sitting, sobbing on my single bed. My knees are hugged up to my chest, as I rock backwards and forwards, because my heart is freshly ripped into pieces, and I can’t sit still with the pain. Joe – at another university some two hundred miles away – has just called on the halls of residence phone to tell me that he doesn’t want a long-distance relationship after all. With impeccable timing, given Dad has had his second heart attack some twelve days earlier, he says he thinks we ought to take a break for a while. ‘I’ll come up,’ I plead. ‘I’ll get on the first train I can and we can sort this out.’ ‘No, don’t do that,’ he insists. He’s sorry, but he’s made up his mind, and it’s important to be honest with me.