by H E Joyce
Safely pushed away at the back of one of the kitchen cabinets were her anti-depressants, the ones she had weaned herself off and had not felt the need to take for such a long time. Without really knowing how she had got there, she fumbled around until her fingers recognised the shape of the box, and sliding out one of the blister packs, she considered long and hard popping it open and just taking one to make her feel better.
She filled a glass with water and held one of the pills to her lips, but hesitated and withdrew it. This wasn’t the answer. Michael working late, the mystery woman caller, her new client...she was just feeling a little on edge, that’s all. And the headache wasn’t helping. But the urge was strong and she placed it again against her lips and eventually into her mouth, ready to swallow. She raised the glass of water and held it there, but just as the first familiar drop of bitterness dissolved onto her tongue, she spat it out, turned on the tap, and watched as it spiralled down the plughole.
*
Determined not to fall into an antidepressant trap, Laura tossed her one remaining pack of Prozac into the garbage. It was a brave move and she knew it, yet somehow it made her feel liberated, stronger. She loved Michael and she knew he loved her, and there was absolutely nothing for her to be worried about. She knew how easy it was to fall back into depression at the slightest thing and she was determined that it was not going to happen.
The headache she had been left with from the previous evening was also beginning to fade away and she began to feel much better in body and mind. Perhaps it was simply the effect of alcohol that had left her feeling down, because although making one feel good for a while, it never lasted, and would in fact almost always have the opposite effect after a short time. It was something she warned her clients about. There was little doubt in her mind that since her breakdown she had become a far better therapist; she understood first-hand how her patients felt, how easy it could be to trust in pills and alcohol to alleviate, for a while at least, the pain and anguish.
As she passed the entrance to the basement, Laura considered continuing where she had left off the day before, but the idea didn’t appeal. She got as far as switching on the light at the top of the stairs, but flicked it off and closed the door almost immediately. Far better, she thought, would be to get some fresh air and a brief change of scene. There were ingredients she needed for the casserole she had promised for dinner, so a visit into town was necessary. It would get her out of the house for a while. Also, she thought, it would provide a means of apologising to Michael for her unreasonable behaviour that morning. She could prepare him some lunch and drop it off at his office while she was in town; she knew he didn’t always make time to get any. It would at least go some way to saying how sorry she was.
She returned to the kitchen and prepared him one of his favourite sandwiches, ham on rye with tomato and rocket leaves, and popped it into her bag. The phone in the hallway rang just as she was leaving and she hesitated in the doorway, but in the end left it to the answering machine. The machine cut in just as Laura closed the door.
*
The fresh air and the smell of the wet grass had the immediate effect of clearing her head, but not only that, it lifted her spirits so that she found herself smiling at just being alive. She stopped and gazed out across the sea, its wild beauty, as always, filling her with awe. The different shades of golden brown leaves that still clung onto the red oaks were a sight she never tired of. Since moving to Brooksville, autumn had become her favourite time of year. She breathed the air in deeply several times before jumping into her pickup.
She headed down the driveway and into town with ‘Sweet Child O’mine’, one of her favourite songs, playing on the radio. Cranking up the volume, she tapped the steering wheel rhythmically to the music. “...And if I stared too long I’d probably break down and cry,” she sang.
It only took ten minutes to reach town. The road, carved out of the rock, was downhill all the way with a steep rock face to the right and a sheer drop to the left which overlooked the bay. She parked her truck close to Blanche and George Merryweather’s shop and hurried the short distance to Michael’s office. The street was set back only a few hundred yards from the seafront and the waves were crashing wildly against the walls of the small harbour. In the distance, she could see that despite the weather, one of the fishing boats was steaming out to sea. The bravery of the fisherman always filled her with admiration.
Pushing back her windswept hair she walked into her husband’s modest office. Margaret, his secretary, who also doubled as a receptionist, looked up as she entered.
‘Oh, good morning, Laura.’
‘Hi, Margaret, how are you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. Glad I’m inside!’
‘Yeah, it’s pretty wild out there. Is my husband around?’
The secretary, a woman in her early sixties with grey hair swept back into a bun, and a kindly smile, stared at Laura blankly for a moment. ‘Uh, he’s not here at the moment I’m afraid, Laura. He’s gone out to see Mr Baxter at Lems Cove about his will.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know he was going out of the office today. Any idea how long he’ll be?’
‘I don’t suppose he’ll be out there too long, but then you can never tell, you know what old folk are like. Knowing Mr Baxter, he’ll most likely keep him there as long as he can – doesn’t get much company you see.’
Laura nodded. ‘Yes of course. Well, perhaps you could give him this when he gets back,’ she said, placing the lunchbox on the woman’s desk.
‘Yes, of course. He’ll be sorry he missed you, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, well,’ Laura said, trying to hide her disappointment, ‘I’ll let you get on. Nice to see you, Margaret.’
‘You too, Laura. You have a good day now.’
Laura stepped out into the street, but after a moment’s hesitation opened the office door again and stood halfway in. ‘By the way, Margaret, I was just wondering, did Mr Baxter already have an appointment prior to this morning?’
‘Actually, no, Michael took the call this morning before I got into the office. Why do you ask? There’s nothing wrong is there?’
‘No, everything’s fine, just curious,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘Well, goodbye again.’
‘Bye, Laura, take care now.’
She was upset that the opportunity to put things right face to face had eluded her. She hoped, however, that bringing in lunch to his office would work almost as well, and they could forget the morning’s misunderstanding, because surely that’s all it was, a simple misunderstanding, a momentary breakdown in communication. It was something that happened in all relationships, no matter how strong, she thought. But this was the first time they’d had any kind of disagreement since they had met; it was this that made her feel so odd.
As she dashed down the street, she began to realise just how stupid she had been, and a wave of guilt washed over her at how she had taken her own ridiculous insecurities out on Michael. He had done nothing wrong and deserved better, she thought. And he would have better from now on. It would be nothing less than a sin to allow her past to colour her judgement regarding their relationship. Their future together depended on her laying her ghosts to rest, being happy, and enjoying their life together.
She broke into a trot as the heavens suddenly opened with a heavy downpour of rain and a fierce wind that picked up into a squall blowing in from the sea. The fishing boats and small private yachts that were moored in the harbour were being tossed around, and the fishing boat she had seen earlier heading out to sea looked to be heading back. Merryweather’s was a welcome sight, and the old-fashioned bell over the door clanged as she hurried inside.
‘My, Laura, it looks like we’re in for a bout of heavy weather,’ Blanche said. ‘Get that wet coat off and I’ll make you a coffee.’
‘Morning, Blanche, yes I think I’ll do that.’
Besides selling groceries and all manner of hardware, Merryweather’s had a couple of tables in the shop
where people, mainly senior citizens, could sit down and rest with a hot drink. Laura draped her wet coat over a chair and sat down, glad to be in the warm.
‘How are Michael and Jody?’
‘Oh they’re fine. Michael’s very busy at the moment.’
‘Well that’s good, dear. I know he hasn’t always had a lot of business around here, it being such a small place and all. Still, I’m glad things are looking up for him. I must say, I never really understood why he came back here, you know, after going to such a fancy law school. I’m guessing he could have made it quite big somewhere else – Boston or New York, somewhere like that. Still, I’m glad he did come back – otherwise you two would never have met would you?’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Laura said, wiping her rain soaked face with a paper napkin.
Blanche, having poured two coffees, joined Laura at the table. ‘On the house for my favourite customer,’ she said, cheerfully.
‘Thanks, Blanche. I suppose it is a bit strange, him coming back. It’s not like he has family here.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that, we’re all one big family in Brooksville, and you’re as much a part of that family as anyone else now, do you know that?’
‘And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have as family than you. You know, you have an uncanny way of making things seem a lot better.’
‘Why, there’s nothing wrong is there?’
‘No, of course not, everything’s fine. I just meant… well, you brighten up the day somehow – even a day like today.’ Laura gestured towards the rain smashing into the shop front.
‘Oh, go on with you.’
‘No, I mean it. I really value your friendship, I just want you to know that.’
‘Likewise, my dear, likewise. Now, drink your coffee before it goes cold. Is there anything you need today?’
‘Some of your wonderful beef brisket,’ Laura said. ‘I’m making a casserole.’
‘Well, you stay right where you are and I’ll see to that for you.’
Blanche was extremely sprightly for her age and scurried off to the back of the shop. Laura smiled at the cheery disposition of the woman she felt privileged to call a friend, or as it sometimes felt, a mother. Blanche was the nearest thing to a mother she had in Brooksville. Her mother, father and sister all lived in Boston, not a vast distance, but far enough all the same. She missed her parents, her mother particularly, and had a sudden pang of guilt at not having spoken to her recently.
Digging deep into her bag she found her cell phone, and scrolling through the list of recent calls, she found her parents home number. She was shocked to see that the last time she had called them was over a week ago. She was about to touch dial the number when the phone rang and startled her. The display showed that the number calling was withheld. She answered. ‘Laura Peterson.’
There was no reply.
She repeated: ‘Laura Peterson, hello?’
Although nobody spoke, she sensed the line was still open and someone was there.
‘Who is this please?’
There was what sounded to Laura like a deep sigh, and then silence as the caller hung up.
She pondered it for a moment, more curious than disturbed at who it could have been. When Blanche returned, she dropped the phone back into her bag.
‘Will this do you, sweetheart?’ she said, opening up the wrapped steak for Laura’s approval.
‘It looks wonderful, Blanche, thank you.’
The clang of the bell announced George’s arrival, and he burst into the shop shortly followed by Petey, their Labrador, and a shower of rain which showed no sign of relenting.
‘Look at you, you old fool! Blanche said, fussing around him. I told you the weather was going to turn. Get yourself upstairs and out of those wet things before you catch your death.’
‘Oh, stop nagging, woman, what the heck do you think I was gonna do?’
‘Well go on with you, then.’
‘Morning, Laura,’ he said, tipping his hat.
‘Morning, George, better do as she says, eh?’
‘Yeah, don’t I know it,’ he muttered under his breath.
She smiled as Blanche ushered him to the back of the shop and up the stairs.
‘Well, I guess I’d better be off,’ Laura said when Blanche returned, ‘before it gets too bad out there.’ She picked up the steak. ‘Would you put this on my account?’
‘Course I will. Now you cook that nice and slow and it’ll be just divine. The boys will absolutely love it.’
*
The weather seemed set for the day at least. On her arrival back home, Laura made a dash for the house, the rain pelting down almost deafeningly on her hooded oilskin cagoule. Once she was inside she peeled it off, removed her sneakers, which had turned out to be entirely unsuitable, then as she habitually did after going out, pressed the playback on the answering machine. She made her way up the stairs to change her jeans and shirt, which even wearing an oilskin, the rain had partially penetrated.
About halfway up the open winding staircase she stopped as the machine played the last recorded message. She could not make it out exactly, so she returned to the lobby and replayed it. At first there was no sound, no voice, nothing, then the sound of someone breathing. She looked bemused, and thought about the call she had taken on her cell phone at the Merryweather’s. Although it made her feel uncomfortable, it did not, as she would have expected it to, fill her with fear. Whoever it was at the end of the phone, she thought, did not sound menacing, but by her judgement, it was the sound of someone who was sad or in pain and needed to talk, but somehow felt unable to.
She doubted it was one of her clients, it simply didn’t seem to fit with any of their problems – so who was it? Of course there was her newest client, Victoria Hanson to consider, but that also seemed unlikely. A person suffering with anxiety attacks would not fall silent; they would be frantic, desperate for help and support. She hoped that if it was someone in need of help, they would call back, and if they did, she would try to coax them to talk. As she headed back upstairs she thought it was entirely possible it could have been a crank caller, though she thought it unlikely in a place like Brooksville. If that were the case, she hoped it was just a one-off.
After a hot shower and a change of clothes, Laura spent her time preparing the promised casserole, and as Blanche had advised, she placed it in the range to simmer slowly. The rain had reduced to a gentle drizzle by three, although it still looked as if there was more to come. It was already getting dark, not helped by the inky black storm clouds and the occasional sound of thunder rolling across the sky.
She parked her truck at the bottom of their long driveway that faced the road where Jody would be dropped off, and watched the rainwater as it flowed rapidly down the steep hill which led to the town below, loose pieces of gravel and fallen leaves being swept along in its wake. When it rained in Brooksville, it rained hard, yet she appreciated the raw beauty that autumn and winter brought to the place just as much as she enjoyed the clemency of spring and the pleasantly warm summer months.
Watching the constant flow of water trickling down the hill was quite mesmerising, and for a while Laura was caught up in it, her mind drifting. But when a sudden movement caught her eye, she jolted back in her seat and peered intently ahead to the trees opposite. There was someone there, she was sure of it, someone watching her. A grey form flitted in front of her eyes at the precise moment the school bus pulled up and immediately blocked her view.
Panicking, she jumped out of the truck and dashed over to the spot where Jody would be dismounting from the bus. As she approached, the bus drove off, and she felt a wave of relief to see Jody standing there. He smiled, but then looked at her curiously. Laura glanced around and squinted through the trees, but there was no one else to be seen.
‘What’s wrong Mom?’
‘Nothing, honey, everything’s fine.’ As she spoke, her eyes darted left and right. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Yeah, it was okay, I guess.’
‘That good, huh.’
As Jody climbed into the truck, Laura paused for a moment and took one last look around. There was still no sign of anyone. She was beginning to wonder whether it had been nothing more than her imagination, a trick of the light.
‘Honey, did you see anyone standing at the stop when you got off the bus?’
‘See anyone?’
‘Yeah, when you got off the bus?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
Laura swung around in her seat. ‘Did you recognise them?’
‘Uh huh.’
So she wasn’t imagining it after all. ‘Tell me. Who was it, sweetheart?’
Jody laughed. ‘It was you, Mom.’
*
Jody was watching T.V in the living room as Laura set the table in the kitchen for dinner. She hadn’t heard from Michael all day. No reconciliatory phone call as she had hoped for, had come. No call to say thank you for his favourite sandwich that she had delivered. She reassured herself that perhaps he had just been too busy. ‘Yeah, right, too busy to make a one minute phone call,’ she said to herself.
At almost six-thirty, she poured herself a glass of wine, reminding herself not to have any more. But she needed this one to calm her nerves. All afternoon, she had felt herself becoming more tense. It seemed that every little thing over the last two days was beginning to get to her; she didn’t care for the feeling that she may be slipping into depression once again. She was resolved, at almost any cost, not to let that happen, yet while the logical side of her mind told her these were nothing more than minor occurrences and disagreements with Michael, she was aware that there was a real possibility she was beginning to imagine things.
The scene at the school bus drop off point disturbed her. Generally, she was not prone to imagining things, and this was no exception. She had thought about it and recreated the moment in her mind and had little doubt she had seen something. She shuddered a little at the thought of the grey figure, yet at the same time found some kind of solace that she was not losing her mind.