by Aly Sidgwick
Everything has gone wrong.
I stumble. Bite my tongue. Get up. Keep runnin’.
He can see me …
I skid across the gravel. Flounder round the outhouses. Claw at the back door. For one dreadful second I think it’s locked. Then it flies open, an’ I spill onto the carpet.
15
Friday.
I wake late – still dressed an’ still wearing my shoes. My bed is full of dead grass. I know something scared me last night, but I still can’t make sense of what happened. Sooner or later Rhona will turn up, demanding answers, and I haven’t the slightest idea what to tell her. At one o’clock there’s a knock on my door. I lie very still. But nobody speaks or comes in.
#
Rhona is sitting in the chair. My eyes dart to the clock. Five minutes past four. Is there time to close my eyes? No, she’s seen me. Painfully slowly, she clears her throat. It feels like she’s frying my brain with her eyes, superhero-style. I picture Rhona wearing a red cape, flying through the clouds, an’ just for a second this almost makes me laugh.
‘So what’s going on?’ she demands, in that weird, controlled voice. The one she uses when she’s really, really furious. I stare at her. Rhona waits. Delicately, slowly, she blinks. ‘I said … what’s … going … on?’
‘What?’
‘Bloody hell, Katherine! Talk to me! Tell me what’s filling that … head of yours!’
I draw my knees up to my chin an’ retreat as far as I can go without fallin’ off the bed. I can’t bear it when Rhona’s angry. My head starts to hurt. I close my eyes.
‘Kathy …’ says Rhona. ‘Please. Just tell me …’
I turn my face away. The bevelled edge of the headboard presses into my forehead, an’ as I roll my head from side to side I feel it brand a pattern into my skin. My thoughts get muddled. Rhona doesn’t speak again. There’s soil all around me, pooling in the folds of the sheets, gathering under my legs, mixing with my sweat. My body feels filthy. Camouflaged, like a soldier. If only it could help hide me from Rhona.
A small weight settles on my feet. Then a cold hand takes hold of mine. We stay this way for a long time, an’ all the while I daren’t look Rhona in the eye. I resent myself for accepting her affection, cos all I really want now is to be alone. Rhona pats my arm, an’ though this is a huge comfort, I wish she wouldn’t do it. Time drags. The room grows dark. I feel sick.
#
When I come around, someone’s sitting there. Two bony hands curl round a magazine. The face is hidden, but I know who it is.
My throat feels raw. I cough and the magazine lowers, revealing Joyce’s face. I watch her watch me. Neither of us speaks. I cough again.
‘Aspirin?’ asks Joyce tartly.
‘Yes please.’
It hurts my throat to speak. Joyce moves out of sight, then returns with a blister pack of pills. She pops out two and puts them in my hand. Then she sits down and crosses her legs.
I look at her and say, ‘I need water.’
Joyce pauses. Then gets up again. As she walks to the sink I take a quick scan of the room. The open curtains are bathed in sunshine, and the clock says twelve minutes past one. My clothes and bed are still a mess. Someone has, however, taken off my shoes and placed them by the door. Joyce returns with a small glass of water, and I see she’s used the glass I keep my toothbrush in. There’s a creamy white film round the bottom.
‘Where’s Rhona?’ I croak.
‘Downstairs.’
I choke down the pills, wincing at the minty taste. Though I’m extremely thirsty, I don’t want to drink more from this glass. I lay against the headboard and look at the wall, wishing Joyce would go away.
‘Dr Harrison is here,’ says Joyce.
I don’t answer.
‘Your session’s at two o’clock. You’ll have to go in cold, I’m afraid. We’ve informed her of the situation.’
‘I feel sick,’ I whisper.
But Joyce just snaps, ‘Dr Harrison has come a long way.’
I close my eyes.
‘She came a long way because you asked for her to come. And now that she’s here, we have no intention of wasting her time. She has other patients, you know. Patients who’ve waited a long time for appointments. Dr Harrison could have stayed in Inverness and helped those people today, but she didn’t. She was kind enough to drive here. For you.’
I feel my body wantin’ to cry yet not having the energy or moisture to accomplish it. I open my eyes and watch the backs of my hands – muddy an’ dead on my lap.
‘I don’t want—’
‘I haven’t got time for your games, Kathy.’
‘But I’m not—’
‘Take your bath now. We don’t want to keep Dr Harrison waiting.’
‘Can I talk to—’
‘Rhona is tired,’ snaps Joyce. ‘She watched you all night. Now it’s your turn to give a little back. You can’t just take, Kathy. It doesn’t work like that.
I stare at my hands.
‘Chop chop,’ says Joyce.
#
The water is clear as it pours into the bath, but by the time I pull the plug it is light brown. It reminds me of a dream I had, about a bath where the water came out of the taps that way. Dirty, but not dirty really. But today things are different. Today, the dirt has come from me.
When I get back to my room I find a clean dress laid out. My mustard bedspread has been replaced by a scarlet one with yellow stitching. They should have laid out a final meal while they were at it an’ called Mr Duff to read the last rites. Each time I look at the bedspread I feel my heart rate rising. It’s like a panic attack made out of wool.
I drag on the clean dress an’ tights, an’ sit on the chair instead of the new bed. I wonder if they’ll come to get me or not. The clock on the wall says six an’ a half minutes to two. I watch the quick hand going round. My belly grumbles. Should I go downstairs by myself? Will Dr Harrison will be kind? I wonder if Rhona will be there. Or Joyce. Probably Joyce.
A knock at the door makes me jump.
‘Yes?’
My voice sounds like the wind on the moor. Airy, invisible.
A pause. Another knock.
‘Yes?’ I say, forcing myself to say it louder.
‘You’re to come down now,’ Caroline’s voice says.
My heart crumples.
‘Oh.’ This time I barely hear my voice at all.
On the way downstairs, my legs don’t feel steady. I grip the handrail tightly, like Mary, an’ find this helps calm my nerves. Is that why Mary does it? If it was up to me I’d stop walking altogether and cement my hand to the rail. Nothing could hurt me then. Nothing could ever move or change or happen to me, as long as I stay in this spot. How simple that would be! Centuries trickling around me. Ice ages covering and uncovering me from the sun. I breathe, and for once the air reaches the depths of my lungs it ought to. But this feeling doesn’t last long. Caroline nudges my back, an’ my feet are forced onwards. This time we descend at a swifter pace, an’ Caroline’s hand doesn’t leave my back till we reach the bottom. In the hallway I glance back at her, an’ she nods along the blue corridor, where the second-last door stands open.
‘Can I have a glass of water?’ I whisper.
‘You can have some when we get there.’
I shuffle along the hall, an’ Caroline walks behind me. The floor sends a chill through my feet.
‘Come on,’ says Caroline, with a touch of impatience.
Breathin’ carefully, I push myself through the door. I haven’t been in here for a long time, an’ the first thing I notice is a pot-pourri sort of smell. Maybe it’s Joyce’s perfume or somethin’. God knows. Rhona’s office smells nothin’ like this.
Why couldn’t we do this in Rhona’s office?
I stand by the door, not wantin’ to go further than necessary. Dr Harrison sits at the desk, behind a stack of paper. I look across the room at the poky little sofa. That’s where Joyce’s patients sit when t
hey tell her things. I’ll probably have to sit there too.
‘Kathy!’
My eyes dart back to Dr Harrison. She’s standing up, beaming. Behind me I feel Caroline shift position, like she thinks I’ll make a run for it. And I must confess it had crossed my mind. But Dr Harrison flaps her hand at Caroline and clucks, ‘Shoo! Patients only!’
With a nod, Caroline disappears. Dr Harrison comes right over then and shuts the door. I watch her from the corner of my eye. If I squint, I can almost pretend she’s Rhona.
‘Well, here we are again!’ declares Dr Harrison as she returns to her papers.
I stand where I am, fiddling with the hem of my dress. It’s strange to think that the last time we spoke was in Inverness. That she remembers it and I don’t.
‘Come and sit down,’ says Dr Harrison. I obey.
Dr Harrison sits in Joyce’s swivel chair and shuffles closer to the sofa. There’s a beige folder on her knees, which she taps with her biro. I’m scared she’ll make me read something from it.
‘So,’ she begins. ‘I’m told there was a little drama yesterday. And I wanted to clear—’
‘It wasn’t my fault!’
‘Now, this is my point exactly. If you’re feeling defensive or tense in any way, this session won’t be successful. So I want you to forget what happened yesterday. It’s not important right now, and it’s certainly not important to me. This is a safe place, and all we’re going to do is talk.’
Dr Harrison waits for a reply. When she doesn’t get one, she says, ‘Is there anything I can do to make you more at ease?’
I frown.
‘Maybe if I dim the lights? Would you like to leave the door open?
‘Can I have a glass of water?’
‘Ah, of course.’
Dr Harrison takes a plastic cup to the sink, runs the cold tap for a while an’ fills it.
‘Are you going to make me talk about my mother?’ I ask.
‘I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Okay?’
I’m not sure if I believe her.
‘Okay.’
‘I’m here to help you. That’s all we’re going to do today.’
‘Okay.’
Dr Harrison asks me to lie down on the sofa. It’s not as big as Rhona’s so I have to have my feet hanging off the end. I put my head on the armrest an’ try not to think of bad things. Instead I fixate on the noticeboard, where Joyce has pinned sheet after sheet of song lyrics. I suppose they’re from her play. Soon we’ll all be dragged to see it and for God knows how many hours I’ll have to endure the horror of Joyce singing.
‘Now,’ says Dr Harrison, ‘just forget any negative feelings you may have had this morning. This is a safe place. A place where—’
‘Okay.’
‘Shh. Try not to speak. Just relax.’
I close my mouth firmly. Dr Harrison pulls her chair closer. I look at her an’ try to relax. The armrest is hurting my neck.
‘Now,’ says Dr Harrison, ‘just close your eyes, and listen to the sound of my voice.’
There is a light pat on the sofa next to my arm. Knowing I’m not allowed, I don’t look to see what it is. I wonder if she’ll give me an injection, like before. Will it hurt, like it does when they hold me down? Maybe she’ll get Caroline to do it for her. Her dirty work. That’s why she wants me to close my eyes! Maybe Caroline’s already in the room!
‘I want you to put your hand on my hand,’ says Dr Harrison, ‘and press down as hard as you can.’
I breathe out, heavily.
‘Put your hand on my hand.’
‘Where’s your hand?’
‘Here.’
I feel Dr Harrison take my right hand an’ place it on top of her other hand.
‘Press down,’ says Dr Harrison, so I do, but not as hard as I can, because I don’t want to hurt her.
‘Harder,’ she says.
‘Okay,’ I say, but still don’t press harder. She breathes out then, an’ I worry I’ve made her angry, so I lean forwards an’ push on her with all my strength. I hear her chair squeak against the floor.
‘One,’ says Dr Harrison.
‘What?’
‘Shh!’
I stop pushin’.
‘No,’ says Dr Harrison. ‘Push my hand.’
‘Like this?’
‘Relax,’ she says. ‘Don’t speak.’
I wonder if I’m pushin’ hard enough.
‘Two. Your eyelids are drowsy and sleepy.’
Her chair squeaks again. The sound hurts my head. I pull away.
Dr Harrison sighs. Her hand disappears.
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘let’s try something else.’
‘Did I do it wrong?’
‘It’s okay. Just breathe deeply.’
I hear the chair move again.
‘In your mind,’ she says, ‘I want you to imagine a staircase. There are a hundred steps curving down and down and around, and though you cannot see the bottom, you know there’s a wonderful place down there. A beautiful, perfect place, waiting just for you.’
I imagine running over the moor on a clear day. The clouds are soft and from there I can see all the way to Skye. Rhona is standing there, waving a red handkerchief. I look closer. But her face is not happy. She is scowling.
‘You are standing on the top step, with your hand resting lightly on the rail. The rail is smooth and polished and feels good under your hand. I want you to start walking down the staircase, Katherine. Niiice and slowly. And with each step you take, you will find yourself getting more and more relaxed … One … Two … Three …’
Rhona’s mouth is moving. ‘Bloody hell, Katherine!’ Rhona is saying. My throat quivers.
‘Four … Five …’
Let me deal with Katherine, says Joyce.
‘Six …’
Dr Harrison’s chair scrapes back, an’ she stops counting. I think she sighs. I hope that wasn’t a sigh. Have I done something wrong? I listen to her feet walking away. Paper rustles. Her feet walk back. She clears her throat.
‘Seven … eight …’ says Dr Harrison.
Will she jab me in the arm? Is the syringe in her hand right now? I wait for the grab, and the sting, and the slow, cold surge.
‘Nine … ten … eleven …’
I’m still thirsty. Can we still stop? I think of my toothbrush glass. Joyce smiling as she hands me a glass of dirty water. Drink! Drink! And again my tears well up. Falling hotly down the back of my throat.
‘Twelve … thirteen … Keep counting … Keep counting … Down and down you go, towards your lovely, special place … Fourteen … fifteen … You can’t wait to arrive, because you feel so safe and happy there … Sixteen … Keep counting … I want you to keep counting in your own mind … always moving closer to the bottom of the staircase …’
Phlegm creeps further back in my throat. Rhona stands at the bottom of the staircase, holding my mustard bedspread in her arms. It is covered with mud. She is crying. Joyce is there too, scowlin’ up at me. I will be in trouble when I reach them.
‘Down and down and down … Keep counting … Keep counting …’
I’ll deal with Katherine, Joyce is sayin’.
Rhona!
It doesn’t work like that, Kathy …
‘Down … Down … Closer to the bottom of the staircase … You can almost see it now … It’s just around the bend … Down … Keep counting down …’
I reach out for Rhona, but she’s no longer there. It’s Joyce who stands waitin’ for me, and the bedspread is red with blood. She moves slightly, an’ I see the butcher’s knife in her hand.
You have to give some back, Kathy …
‘Down and down and down … Closer … You feel relaxed … Extremely relaxed …’
No!
‘Shhhh … very … very … relaxed …’
Joyce starts hacking my bedspread to pieces. Rhona has disappeared, but I hear her crying.
‘Veryyy … relaxed …’
>
Rhona is crying.
‘You are now very deeply relaxed, and everything I say will go deeply into your mind.’
Too busy for you …
‘Katherine? Can you hear me?’
‘Rhona!’
‘Can you hear me, Katherine?’
‘Yes.’
They want me to think it’s Rhona, but …
‘Good. I want you to visualise your safe place now. You are feeling very relaxed and at ease, and you notice that there is a door in front of you. I want you to walk through that door, Katherine. Nice and slowly … In your own time … Just step through the door … Can you do that?’
It’s him … he can see me … he can see me … he can …
‘Yes.’
‘Have you stepped through the door now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Very good. Now, in your own time, look around and tell me what you see.’
The bite … but it’s not … it’s …
‘Grass … dark … I’m … I can see … stars …’
‘Move your head to the side and look at what’s there. Can you see?’
‘Yes.’
‘What can you see?’
‘Grass … no … plants … wheat … I’m lying down … There’s light … on the other side …’
‘I want you to focus on the light. Look past the wheat and focus on the light. Can you see anything else there?’
‘It’s … far away …’
‘What can you see?’
‘A house.’
‘Good. Very good. What kind of house is it?’
‘It’s … wooden. Like a … log cabin … It’s blue …’
‘Do you know who lives in the blue house?’
‘I do …’
‘Does anyone else live in the blue house?’
‘I wasn’t supposed to be here …’
‘Does anyone else live in the blue house?’
‘He’ll see me … He’s coming …’
‘Relax. Just breathe. Breathe deeply and relax. You’re safe. No one can hurt you. I want you to come back now, to your place with the wheat and the stars. I want you to rise up, far above the ground, and look at the place where you were lying down … Can you see it?’