by AB Morgan
‘Fucking interfering bitch. Tell her to fuck off or shut up.’
‘Which one?’
‘Anna? Who are you talking to? Who’s there with you? Did you hear what I said? I’ve emailed you the flight times. The hotel is booked, so Dad and I will be arriving two weeks tomorrow. Remember to do some food shopping and don’t forget toilet rolls this time. You know it sends your father into a flat spin if you can’t even offer a biscuit when we visit, and he’ll certainly never forget having to use newspaper the last time when he needed to use your toilet.’
‘Can’t you come on your own?’
‘No. He has business to deal with, but we both want to see you. Please don’t start that nonsense about your father again. He takes it so personally. It’s really hurtful. We don’t ask for much … just to see you now and again.’
Anna shimmied to her right and consulted the calendar propped against the half-tiled wall at the rear of the work surface. She flicked the pages back and forth uncertain, for a few seconds, what the month or week was.
‘Yes. It’s on the calendar. I haven’t forgotten. I must go, I’m really tired and I have a motorbike lesson tomorrow.’ Finally located by process of elimination, Anna had her finger on the date.
‘A what?’
Having spied a booklet with her name on the front of it Anna hung up the handset and reached into the kitchen bin. ‘I remember this,’ she said glancing over her shoulder before wiping the front of the booklet with her sleeve and setting it down on the counter. ‘Sara gave it to me.’ She read her own words written in her neat rounded handwriting. ‘“Early warning signs that I may need to remember, and an action plan if I think I am becoming unwell again”.’
‘Unwell? Who was unwell? Not you. Not you, Fruitcake.’
‘“Late sign requiring urgent action: becoming so engrossed in what Damien is telling me to do that I forget to wash or to eat properly”. Well that’s not true.’
Despite her immediate reaction, Anna couldn’t quite dismiss what she’d read. Sitting down at the dining table with the pages open, she continued. Her mind recalled the many hours that she and Sara had spent together in the hospital and then again later, once she had been discharged. Gemma, her cousin, had joined some of their sessions, describing how worried she’d been by Anna’s low mood even before Damien had died. Anna recalled her words.
‘She never seemed to settle into army life. She didn’t make friends with anyone, not really. I understand why. They moved base three times in quick succession so I don’t suppose there was time for friendships to develop. She lost contact with her old friends and I think, if I hadn’t made an effort, she would have lost touch with me too, and yet we’ve always been close. Like sisters.’
It was Gemma who had tried to help her. Gemma phoned her every day when Damien was on a tour of duty and Gemma who had rescued her from the funeral directors. Anna picked up her mobile phone. Seven text messages and three voicemails from Gemma, unanswered.
Anna pressed the button and waited. A sleepy voice answered the phone. ‘Thank God. Where on earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you. I almost called the police.’
‘Gemma? I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy. It’s my fault.’ Anna’s words came slowly.
‘Why are you phoning so late? What’s wrong?’
‘I’m not sure. I think I might be struggling. Things aren’t making sense. There’s a tent in my lounge that I don’t even remember buying, and someone’s been in my house. It could be Leonard Fewtrell. I can’t work it out.’
Gemma’s voice was like a soothing tonic and a comforting blanket helping to make sense of things.
‘As long as your parents are not going to be there at the same time, I’ll book some holiday from work and I’ll stay with you for day or two. Focus on that. Get the spare room ready. Maybe next week, if I can swing it, but you have to promise me to call your community nurse or whoever. You do still have one?’
‘No. I don’t think I do. I’ll call Sara in Devon.’
‘Brilliant idea. She’ll know what to do. Now in the meantime what else does your plan advise?’
After saying goodnight to Gemma, Anna went to the fridge. Under a magnet she found Sara’s contact details. The card on which they were written had been turned over. Anna phoned the familiar number.
An answerphone message, “This is the Great Culverstone Early Intervention Team, please leave your name and number and we will get back to you as soon as we can”.
She squawked into the mouthpiece. ‘My name is Anna Chamberlain. I need to speak to Sara urgently.’ Once she had left her contact information she hung up.
‘Now you’ve blown it. I suggest, soldier, that you get this place in order. Clean it. Tidy up. Get out the bleach and don’t let anyone think it was you who made this dreadful mess. Chop, chop.’
When she had been discharged from the secure unit, Sara had visited her at home on the army base twice a week. Anna couldn’t forget quite how many facts she had been asked for to make a timeline of her mental decline: what happened and when, personal memories and petty, insignificant changes in behaviours, use of language, and her thoughts - all these things were explored in depth. Sara helped her to regain her confidence and to make decisions about her move to live near to where Damien had been buried. Close to her mother-in-law. Her cousin Gemma had said it was the most sensible thing to do. Besides which she had to move, the army wanted its quarters back and Anna was missing Damien’s voice. He had left her in silence. Her only hope was that by going to his grave, she could perhaps hear him again.
No matter how many conversations she had with Sara, the idea that the voices were hallucinations was challenged by Anna. She couldn’t contemplate life without knowing that Damien was at hand.
Psychology appointments were made to explore this with her, but all too soon a moving date had been set and Anna hadn’t even begun to entrust the therapist with her thoughts and feelings, let alone to delve into her central belief that Damien remained with her.
When he was unable to talk to her, he sent her special messages in songs on the radio, in patterns of light, and by placing particular objects where she would find them.
‘You see, Sara? That photo frame was facing away from the door this morning, but now as I walk in I can see his face. It’s his way of letting me know he’s still with me.’
‘Not coincidence?’
‘No. I haven’t moved the frame, so he must have.’
When Anna caught the show of disbelief in Sara’s eyes she refrained from further excited revelations about Damien’s clever messages of optimism and faith that they would be together again.
In no time, the issue of medication as a treatment became a sore subject. Anna began to question its worth. ‘I don’t really need it other than to help me sleep.’
Sara had negotiated hard. ‘Don’t you remember how distressed you were before I met you? Before you were taking the medication? You begged for the voices to stop and with help from the medication they did get better. If you want to stop taking the tablets then please do it with a plan in mind. Taper off slowly with proper supervision and make sure you revisit your relapse prevention plan.’
Anna had been dismissive. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘Anna. Look at me. I’m not saying this for my benefit. You have a life to lead. You’re young, beautiful and you deserve to achieve your potential. Damien would want you to be happy.’
It was that final sentiment that had made Anna doubt Sara’s intent. How would she know what Damien wanted? Was he sending her messages too? Was he being unfaithful? Could she be trusted?
Before Anna’s moving date, Sara made a referral to mental health services in Lensham and furnished Anna with her personalised relapse prevention action plan. ‘If all else fails, and if, for whatever reason, you don’t get support from local services, call me and I’ll follow it up for you. I’ve spoken to the team in Lensham, sent your details and they’ll make contact. It will be easier on
ce you are registered with a local GP.’
Anna ignored the letters from the Mental Health Team in Lensham and they gave up after a few telephone calls during which she was polite but firm. ‘No, thank you. Really, I’m fine. I’m back at work now. You can call again if you like but the answer will still be no thank you.’
The early morning light triggered a cheerful twittering dawn chorus. Anna looked up from her position on all fours scrubbing the kitchen floor and grinned. ‘Yes! We made it. Time for a bite to eat, a cup of coffee to get me going again and then I have an appointment, I think.’ She checked her phone to remind her of the date, but the battery had died some time in the early hours. ‘Bugger.’ She stopped rubbing at the floor with a cloth to dry it, swaying as she stood up. The phone charger that was always in the same place, had vanished. ‘Not again,’ she sighed.
‘Come on now, soldier. It’s a simple test of your resolve and stamina. Where have I hidden it?’
‘Not now, Damien.’ Anna was getting increasingly infuriated with Damien’s tricks. Her expensive camera was nowhere to be found either. It had gone missing only the day before. She turned on the TV in the lounge, found the BBC News Channel and wrote down the date. She moved back into the kitchen and examined the calendar. ‘That means today is Thursday, and I have to be in Lower Marton for eight thirty. If I leave now I can hide my car by the garage and watch the Fewtrells’ departure on my iPad. Damien, I need the charger. Stop messing about and tell me where it is.’
Her efforts to locate the charger took nearly three hours. She was going to be late.
13
Difficult Decisions
It was a short ride to the old school buildings. Rounding the bend, Rory could see Steve in full leathers, mounted on his motorbike, taking a long draw on his vape pipe. A magnificent cloud of smoky steam hung in the air, partially hiding Steve’s face and goatee beard, before a slight breeze wafted the vapour away. Rory drew up alongside him, cut the ignition and kicked down the side stand. Taking off his helmet, he let out a sigh. ‘I can’t thank you enough for this. I didn’t think it wise to speak to her alone.’
‘After what you told me on the phone last night, I couldn’t agree more. Do you want me to handle this? She’s my student at the end of the day. My call.’ Steve took a better look at his colleague. ‘Fuck me, you look choice. Are you sure you should be at work?’
Rory dismissed Steve’s concern with a flick of his wrist. In the other hand he was holding his helmet as he headed for the main door of the portacabin to unlock the office. ‘Rubbish night’s sleep that’s all. I made a whopping great mistake and agreed to allow my mother to visit this weekend. She decided to be more worried about me than usual.’
‘So you were cleaning the house all night?’
Rory laughed. ‘No, you cheeky Kiwi. My place is already spotless, thanks. She’ll be staying at The Valiant. I can’t cope with having her in the same house with me. You can take a guess why. The reason I look like shit is because I went to the pub to drown my sorrows and then couldn’t sleep because the bloody didds next door were up slugging back moonshine and fighting with each other for hours.’
‘What the hell is a didd?’
Rory halted halfway through the door, turned and looked Steve in the eye. ‘I was going to tell you, but on second thoughts I won’t. It’s a politically incorrect term, which, if you use it, will get us both the sack. Forget I said it. Change it for low-lifes.’
‘You meant gypos, pikeys, tinkers … that sort.’
‘Yes. But, no. Please don’t repeat any of those names within earshot of anyone else. Please,’ Rory begged. ‘Right, down to business. How are we going to break it to Anna Chamberlain that she can’t proceed with her CBT and the rest of her bike tests?’
Steve wore a smug expression as he began to explain his plan. ‘We continue as we normally would. We do a quick revision session on the theory to give her a chance to prove she absorbed the info and follow up with work on the bikes. If she’s true to form, then we’ll have enough examples of distraction to pull her out of the course. We do everything together. Back each other up. Grant won’t mind. He’ll sail through and you can take him on the road by himself once she’s gone home.’
Rory wasn’t so convinced. ‘What if she does okay?’
‘Then I guess we take her on the road …’
‘Can you stay that long?’
Steve gave him a matey slap on the back. ‘Too fuckin’ right. I love a challenge. Now get me a coffee and you’d better load up on caffeine yourself while you’re at it.’
Rory hovered at the sink where he was about to fill the kettle. Rousing himself from a deep thought, he delayed turning on the tap. ‘How about we raise this issue of her distraction, if that’s what we’re calling it, and we insist that she gets a letter from her GP to say she is fit enough to undertake the training.’
‘Mate,’ Steve replied, ‘that’s nothing short of genius. What an awesome idea. That way we get her some help too, eh?’
The two men allowed themselves a quiet few minutes to rest on the tatty office sofa where they put their feet up on the coffee table without fear of rebuke from anyone.
‘I’d do the same for you if you went a bit bonkers on me.’
‘What do you mean, “went”? I’ve been whacky for decades.’ Steve took an appreciative sniff of his mug as Grant stuck his head round the door.
‘Morning. Okay to come in?’
Over more cups of coffee, Steve updated Grant on the outline for the day. Grant, it seemed, had been worrying overnight about Anna’s mental state and was in wholehearted support of what the two instructors had in mind.
‘Thank Christ for that. I didn’t know quite how to broach the subject with you. I thought at first maybe it was nerves and that was why she smelt a bit … you know, whiffy.’ Grant used his hand to fan under his nose. ‘I thought it was nervous sweat but then she got odder and odder as the day went on. Poor lass.’
By the time Anna arrived she was nearly fifteen minutes late. The three men in the portacabin had pretended to be relaxed and in conversation about the specific requirements for the module one test. Rory noticed Anna’s hair. It was greasy and tangled as if it hadn’t been touched since the previous day. Not unexpectedly, she wore the same clothes as the day before and, as she passed by Steve and Grant on her way to collect a high-viz vest, they both wafted their hands across their noses, raising eyebrows to Rory while her back was turned.
‘Yes, thanks,’ Anna said in response to a question that had not been asked.
* * *
The confrontation couldn’t be postponed much longer. While Grant and Anna practised stopping at a cone junction, then pulling away safely, Rory and Steve stood together defining the evidence to be presented to Anna, telling her of their concerns for her wellbeing. ‘Yes, good word. Wellbeing. Whatever you do, don’t say mental health or she’ll rumble us.’
Steve nodded. ‘I’ll try to remember that. Then you offer a compromise; the note from the doctor. That’s all good … let’s do it then.’
Anna didn’t cry. She didn’t shout. She simply ignored what Steve was saying by looking across at Rory and demanding that he explain the decision.
‘I want to hear this from the senior instructor, if you don’t mind. Not from you.’ She was curt.
Rory took his own advice and mentioned her wellbeing. ‘You’re probably overtired from your stressful job, so we feel obliged to ask for a fitness certificate from your GP to satisfy ourselves that you can complete the course safely. Do you understand?’
Anna swung her head giving a furious look behind her. ‘Yes,’ she said harshly through slitted lips.
Rory was aware that this was not in response to the question he had asked. He knew, without doubt, that Anna was over the border in her internal world, wrestling with unseen shadows generated by her unstable mind.
‘If you like, I can write to your doctor to explain why we are requesting confirmation of your fitness t
o ride a motorcycle.’
‘I want my money back.’
‘Of course. That’s no problem. You won’t be charged for anything other than your first two lessons.’
There was a painfully long pause before Anna spoke again. ‘So you’re saying that if I get a note from my doctor to say I’m fit enough, I can continue? And if I don’t get one then you are refusing to take me on the road, so I can’t complete my CBT. Is that right?’
Rory relaxed. Finally, he had broken through. All she had to do was agree to see the GP and they would have achieved their main aim. He didn’t care about the money or whether she passed her CBT. She needed help but didn’t know it herself.
‘A doctor can’t be that fucking scary. See if you can get an appointment today and we’ll see you tomorrow.’ Steve’s tone was dismissive. He sat resting on the sofa with one booted foot balanced on the knee of the other leg. Rory could have hit him for being so insensitive and realised that Anna had taken the comment as provocation. Affronted, she looked down her nose at the leather-clad man who was stroking his beard and staring at her as if she were a child. She stood with her hands placed on the back of a chair. Rory remained still, unblinking, not daring to speak having recognised the potential for aggression.
‘Why would I be scared of my own doctor? I will see you tomorrow and you will take me out on the road. All I need is a good night’s sleep and I’ll be my usual self. Goodbye for now. No that’s it. Enough said.’
Rory and Steve watched her drive out of the compound before congratulating themselves on the “good cop, bad cop” approach to resolving the situation. ‘Christ for a minute there I thought she was going to launch the chair at you. Now that’s out of the way we have to warn her doctor that she’s coming and see if he can get her properly assessed.’