“Take a seat Izzy.” He points over at one of the comfy looking armchairs. I sit down and look round his office. The closest thing I have that can compare to how this room makes me feel, is the memory of the cave my brother and I used to make with chairs and blankets. On bad days we would place four dining room chairs together and gather all the blankets we could find in the house. Zack and I would drape them over the chairs making sure not a sliver of light would enter our safe haven. Well, we liked to think it was safe. Most of the time it was, sometimes we weren’t so lucky.
Our next task would be to gather all our favourite things in our cave. Our pillows, a torch, my books, Zack’s Superman magazines and finally a small picnic of treats because who knew how long we’d be in there. Sometimes we’d spend the whole night in there, taking turns in keeping watch on what was going on in the other room. Sometimes we’d fall asleep in there holding hands. The memory makes me sad and I feel myself shiver. A slight cough takes me away from my thoughts and I look over at Dr McGrath. He’s sitting in the other armchair facing me at an angle, his hands firmly clasped, his eyes examining me, looking straight inside me. I feel a sudden chill. I know I’m missing something, a piece of a puzzle. Mum recognized his name. There has to be a connection. I wish I knew for sure.
“So Izzy, how has your first week been?”
“Good, although I feel a bit out of my depth in one of the modules,” I say feeling relieved that we are on a safe topic here.
We have a chat about what I need to focus on and go through the list of extra reading and I note down the useful articles he suggests.
“Anything else you’d like to talk about Izzy? How are you settling down in your new accommodation?”
I suddenly wonder how on earth he knows I’ve moved, but then I remember that I had to change my details as soon as I moved in with Aiden and the others.
“Yeah it’s good, I feel happy there….safe I suppose.” I miss a breath, I shouldn’t have said safe, that’s like offering candy to a child. I know this when I catch the look in Dr McGraths eyes.
“Safe? You didn’t feel safe before?” He looks at me questioningly wanting to obviously move this conversation somewhere new.
I have no idea how to answer his question; he’ll be like a dog with a bone now. I’ve given him an ‘in’, I recognize the signs, after all, I’ve not long finished my sessions with Dr Beckett.
“Well, I live with three guys now so…umm they make me feel safe, you know, not like living on my own I mean.”
“Did you live on your own before Izzy?” he quickly fires back not wanting to give me an out. I shake my head at him but say nothing; instead I turn my head to look out the window. “I believe I may have met your mother once, Izzy.”
And there we go. I knew it. He knows or has suspicions.
“I of course cannot divulge in what capacity, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. But I believe I’ve told you this already,” he says, and I immediately feel like he’s drawing me out.
I want to change the subject but for some reason, maybe the way he looks at me, I feel like I need to affirm what he’s said. I maintain my silence though. The door is staying firmly shut on the accident. Even if I wanted to I don’t think I could open it. I look down at my hands. I can still see them desperately trying to get to my brother, searching for the way in, to save him from life but wanting to give it to him too. Suddenly I can smell it, smell the despair and I start to shake. I know I’m about to fall apart. I feel hot and cold at the same time, I hear the ocean in my ears and my heart is about to burst out of my chest. I know what’s about to happen and it fills me with panic and dread. I look up at Dr McGrath and I’m sure he sees how scared I am because his face looks worried.
When I come to, I’m lying on the couch. I know that I just fainted; I recognised the signs just before I passed out. Even though it’s been a while since the last time; I remember it as if it was yesterday. You never forget what it feels like once you’ve fainted from anxiety and panic or even a bad memory for that matter. I turn my head and see Dr, McGrath sitting on a chair next to me.
“How are you feeling Izobel?” he asks me as he hands over a glass of water.
Sitting up I grasp the glass and chug it down saying nothing. Emptying the glass in one go I try to steady my breathing and gather my strength so I can run the hell out of here.
I think I’d actually managed to separate myself from the accident. Taken what happened out of the equation of my new life, creating a battle-line. I guess I was wrong. I’ve been dealing with what I had to endure, for as long as I can remember but the moment it affected my brother and it resulted in him being taken away from me, well, I fell apart.
Dr McGrath’s sitting there, hands clasped in his lap, gentle caring eyes that are willing me on, encouraging me to open up to him, wanting me to know I’m safe in here, safe with him. I know I have to say something, I want to say something, but I’m finding it really difficult to find my voice.
I struggle to explain, “You know how hard it is to hold onto something by a thread, hold on so tight you can actually get away with it, then for a freak situation to upset the balance with such disastrous consequences? Now that….that I cannot hold onto,” I say weakly hoping he’ll understand that I just can’t, not yet. He nods at me in understanding and I feel a sense of relief.
I get my mobile out of my bag, finding Aiden’s number and quickly send him a text asking him to come pick me up. I’m scared to speak, I’m worried everything will come tumbling out and I’m not ready. Not ready at all. I need to be prepared for that day. Dr Beckett got as far as he could with me before I stopped seeing him and I thought I was dealing, but obviously not. I’m guessing the door to what happened is still closed, but what’s behind it has started seeping out through the gaps and cracks, like a cloud of black smoke thickly cloying and suffocating me, crossing the invisible line. The scars of my love for my lost brother have still not healed but are flashing in bright neon colours, like beacons in the dark. All through my morose and depressing thoughts Dr McGrath is still just sitting there quietly looking at me….those eyes terribly busy; analysing and seeing straight through me like I’m a transparent shell covering a multitude of swirling emotions and scenes playing in the background.
I want to be brave, I need to be brave and I know if anyone can help me, he can. I can tell it from looking at his eyes and how they’re looking straight through me right now. Oh well…here comes the rain, the rolling clouds followed by the thunder, hell any analogy fits this freak of nature situation which I’m about to bring into the warmth and cosiness of his office. I look at the kind and age-lined face in front of me. I hope he’s ready for it.
“Izobel?” he says encouragingly with a slight nod of his head.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and return the nod. Here we go, I look down at my hands. “I’ve been here before,” I whisper as if in pain. “So…I’ll go to the beginning, where it all started. I’ll begin with my Dad and what it was like at home,” I say, knowing I’m opening up a can full of pain and anxiety.
“Why did you not feel safe at home? What was different and how old were you when you understood this?” he asks me gently.
“I think I was seven the first time I realised Dad was different,” I tell him on an exhale. “Different to other Dads I knew, anyway. Whether there are more like him I don’t know, but probably, yeah I’m pretty sure they’re out there. You wouldn’t necessarily know though, I don’t think, because they’re not the kind you brag about or want to show off, right?” I pause, and look back over at Dr McGrath who waves his hand at me to continue. I’m kind of relieved he’s not asking probing questions, I’m not ready to answer any yet. Well, not voluntarily anyway.
“So,” I continue unscrambling my thoughts. “He wasn’t around all that much really. I would get up in the morning and he’d be gone by the time I left my room. Unless it was a weekend, then we’d all have breakfast together, as a family. I’m not su
re why this became a ritual because no one would really speak. Breakfast was always blanketed by a heavy silence.” I pause to think…and somehow elaborate so that he’ll understand. Looking over at him, his face is open, urging me to continue.
“So yeah, it was never the comfortable kind of silence mind you, rather it was the silence that would make you feel irrationally guilty. I’d sit there and intensely think of something to talk about, something that was random enough and safe enough not to be turned into anything other than it was, if that makes any sense?” I smile sadly at him.
“What I think Izobel, is that there are so many types of silences that are left open to the interpretation of the individual.” He stops talking and picks up the carafe of water pouring us both another glass, so I continue.
“Well it’s hard to do you know, keeping silent that is. Especially when you’re a child because as children we’re known to speak our mind unaware of consequences that may happen because the subject is thought to be inappropriate, politically incorrect or just plain bad mannered. Well, that didn’t apply my brother and me; we knew exactly what the effect of our words was. Just like we knew what the inevitable consequence would be for us. Well I did first, but then I was older than my brother.” I look up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster while I think back.
“I knew my situation was not like any of my friends. I picked up on the danger signs. This was very important, it became important. I would end up wishing I was anywhere but where I was, and so many times I’d try and hold my breath for as long as I could.” I look back at Dr McGrath as I take a sip of water. My hand is shaking and I spill a bit of water on my leg. I hope he didn’t notice.
“Izobel, you became an observer of your Dad’s behaviour in order to safe-guard yourself and your brother. It was instinctual. It served to protect you and to avoid situations that were out of your control.” He hesitates before his next question, I can see his eyes working and I prepare myself by trying to fight my fear.
“Do you feel loved by your father now? And more importantly did you feel his love when this happened? Or was he a paradox?” He steeples his fingers in that classic way that lets me know he is paying the outmost attention to my every single word.
“Yeah, I never really doubted that he loved me, and I still don’t. But I’ve never understood his kind of love. It’s not the kind of love you’ll find in the Good Parenting Guide or on the Father’s Day cards in the shops,” I answer, the best way I can. “To be honest, I think the way he loves is unique to himself; his personality his view on life I suppose. I can analyse why he’s like this forever, but from what I heard about his childhood, I know he had it tough growing up. I know because he told me things….” I shake my head in frustration, my words falling out like disorganised ramblings.
“My poor Dad was apparently so unloved, he was adamant he was going to be different, show his kids the love he never received. But to be honest with you Dr McGrath this is where I think he’s wrong,” I say looking down at my hands, picking at my fingernails.
“How so Izobel?” he asks leaning forward in his chair.
“Well, I think he did get the love that matters. The love that comes from being a part of a family. A bond that exists only from spending time together doing fun things. Time, that yes, maybe didn’t involve much money, but it was time spent together. They stuck up for one another. Yes, they had their rough times, and a hand would strike once in a while. I know that’s not right of course, I know, believe me I know. But the good times were far outweighed, his own admission not mine, by the togetherness which I know he did value.”
I look up from my hands, which now have ten mangled finger nails; it’s been a while since they last looked like this. I feel sorry for Dr McGrath. He got in, the door’s opened. He unlocked it. But instead of looking rattled and hassled, he looks back at me with a kind smile on his face so I know its okay to keep going. I don’t want to stop now, I don’t think I could even if I tried or wanted to.
“How do you feel your Dad quantifies his love Izobel. You say it’s different?” he asks me gently as if he senses how petrified I am of this conversation which was never meant to be.
“Well…” I say trying to rationalise it in my thoughts so they make sense. “I guess my Dad equates love with money and prestige. I think that became very clear to us early on. When he was happy we were happy, as a direct result. When things were not so great we felt it. We went through it with him. It swung in roundabouts.”
“Sounds as if life became a vicious cycle and you were all pulled into a vortex of unpredictability and fear as a consequence,” he replies with deep frown lines appearing.
“I guess so, he had a map of how to get where he wanted in his life and we were all meant to follow his journey. We had no choice, we had to stay quiet while he chased, for the want of a better word, his holy grail.” I take a deep breath…my throat feels constricted and the tears silently make tracks down my cheeks. I’m starting to shake, I feel so tired and emotional. “And he wonders why he’s so exhausted. He replaced actions of love with responsibilities of a lower priority, all the while thinking he was doing something from which everyone derived enjoyment. Putting off the important things like affection and time spent together. The signs became more and more transparent the older I got.” I close my eyes and lean back in the chair wishing once again this wasn’t my life.
“How did you react to these signs Izobel?” he asks me looking genuinely curious.
“I think I learnt very early on to categorize them. A beacon would go off when I knew to hide in my room. Well, that’s until I realized that this meant someone else would be ‘in the line of fire’.” I shudder at the memory. “So instead I’d go hide my brother in his room then go stand in the spotlight so he’d forget about Zack. I refused to ever run and hide, I’d do anything for my brother, but it wasn’t easy, it didn’t get any easier. In fact it got harder and harder to tell him to take my hand so I could lead him to safety; run and hide….be safe. He grew up though. No it definitely didn’t get easier.”
I’m starting to stumble over my words; I know I can’t go on. Dr McGrath is still sitting in the same position, watching me, almost statuesque in his posture.
“I want to stop now…please,” I whisper to him. The lump in my throat is growing and I feel so cold. The pounding in my head is getting louder and louder. I actually feel like I’m in pain and all I want to do is crawl under my duvet and make myself small and invisible.
I jump in my chair when my mobile suddenly beeps, alerting me that I’ve got a text message. I feel as if I’m coming out of a trance and realise where I am. It’s obviously getting late, I can tell and I’m feeling very unnerved by the door I just opened. I let him in. Dr McGrath smiles over at me reassuringly, looking genuinely pleased with me. He nods and stands up, walking over to his desk shuffling his papers in search of something. He picks up his diary and turns back to face me.
“Well done Izobel. Very well done. We need to put our next tutor meeting in to go through your progress and any other issues you may have.”
He gives me such a kind look I can actually feel how proud he is of me opening up, letting go. We settle on a date and time in two weeks and I immediately know what he’s doing. He’s letting me open the door to my past in the safety of his presence without judgement under the pretence umbrella of coursework struggles and tutoring. Maybe by the end he can take the pieces and build them up to become something tangible that I can set alight, letting it disintegrate so I can place the ashes in a jar and bury them somewhere. So I can go and reflect, but also leave it all behind. I’ve honestly forgotten how it feels to be truly alive, but I’m not sure our past ever really dies. I want nothing more. It sounds crazy I know, but I’m still struggling, I know this. Every day I pray no one else who means something to me will let go, let go of me, because I’ll fall apart and I’m not sure anyone will be able to put me together again. I pack up my stuff and say an awkward goodbye to Dr McG
rath who looks at me with a caring smile and a look of something like pride or admiration. What a clever man he is. I knew though, as soon as I met him, I knew.
It’s dark outside, I look at my watch and realise that two hours has flown by. Aiden isn’t outside so I check my phone and see a text from him saying he’s been held up and is sorry he couldn’t come get me. I text him back saying it’s all good. I’m actually exhausted but strangely enough I feel like celebrating. Celebrating what, I’m not quite sure, but I feel as if now the door has been opened to let out my thoughts, fresh air has replaced them. It eradicated the stuffiness and I can take a breath of clean air. Never one to be afraid to walk into a pub alone, I decide stop at the local and walk in to get myself a pint.
I find a corner table in the darker end of the pub. It’s not too busy yet for a Friday night. Just as I sit down I hear my phone and go hunting for it in my bag. Why is it that when you need something out of your bag it becomes bottomless? As I’m hunting down my mobile I hear her before I actually see her. I sit completely still, hoping she doesn’t realise I’m in here.
It’s Lina.
I refuse to look up. I don’t want to see if Declan’s with her. I finally find my phone and see I’ve got a missed call from Sofia. I listen to the voicemail but have a hard time hearing what she’s saying, there’s too much background noise wherever she is. It sounds like she’s saying something about coming back next Friday, but I’m not sure, so I send her a text asking her to ring me again to explain. When I look up I can feel Lina’s eyes on me, if looks could kill I’d be truly dead and buried in five seconds flat. She walks over full of some sort of intent and purpose, looking like she wants to throttle me. I’m pretty sure she’s about to warn me off Declan.
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