by Adrian Laing
“I suppose they’ve already gone to print on the story, dad. I mean it’s Friday so they print today don’t they?”
“I guess so, JC.”
“Why aren’t you bricking yourself dad? I’ve tried that ‘be happy stuff’ and it works for about three seconds then I’m shitting myself. Is there something you know that I don’t or what?”
David looked at his son with a sort of bored, nonchalant look. “It’s not that I know something you don’t JC. It’s that I don’t feel something you do. Maybe it’s just an age thing, son. Talking about age, that must be Gootsy. I’d recognise that shuffle in my sleep.”
Gootsy made a solemn entrance and sat down where he knew he was supposed to sit.
“So, how did you know the funny bit would be when Mark fell asleep, Gootsy?” David sounded a tad concerned, but Gootsy was feeling – and looking – very comfortable, smugly confident and deeply secure.
“I didn’t; it was always going to end in laughter, the way it ended was just one way out of countless ways, but it went well, don’t you think, David?”
Helen decided to intervene. “Look, Gootsy from what I heard it was a great session. What I want to know is can you go to another level without freaking anyone out completely?”
“How do you mean, Helen, ‘another level’?” Gootsy gave a great impression of looking dumb, if need be.
JC was equally inquisitive. “Yes, Helen, how do you mean ‘another level’?” he asked, deliberately echoing Gootsy.
Helen smiled. “OK, let me put my cards on the table. I’ve read through Sarah-Jane’s file and I’ve also had an opportunity to make my own judgment. I’ve also just received a long email from her dad. I’d say Sarah-Jane is the biggest challenge we’ve ever had here at The Place. She’s been in and out of institutions of one kind or another since she was quite young; in fact from the day of her mother’s suicide Sarah-Jane was a ‘case’ and that was when she was seven years old. I doubt if there’s been one day in her life since then that she hasn’t been on one type of medication or another in therapy of some kind. Sarah-Jane has had every treatment listed in most psychiatric textbooks of the western world. She’s a living memorial to that psychiatric textbook ‘DSM’, I mean every edition. That’s why the dad emailed me, to make sure she’s taking her meds. This is the list that the dad thinks she’s on: levothyroxine, olanzapine, priadel, propranolo and simvastatin.”
David looked concerned and sighed. “That’s quite a cocktail. Do you think we’re maybe out of our depth with this one Helen? I mean maybe Sarah-Jane needs a ‘slug ‘em, drug ‘em, easy does ‘em’ psychiatrist of the old school. We know plenty of them. I mean if she flips out can we really deal with her without phoning for an ambulance? Do we need that?”
JC had his own view. “Maybe the dad knows the whole lifestyle hasn’t really helped. Maybe the dad’s ahead of us and wants Sarah-Jane to experience something a bit more real, outside her usual med-filled life. Isn’t that why she’s here? I mean when I looked into her eyes there’s life there – just about – but in the midst of thick fog.”
Gootsy stroked his chin. “Yes, JC I saw it too. Listen, I have an idea.”
“Really, Gootsy? Let’s hear it.” said David.
“There is something missing from this lady’s life. I can see a sort of ‘absence’, in a way. Yes, I know what might help. I think we need some divine intervention, as Helen suggests – another level.”
JC wasn’t going to be convinced that easily. “Er, not sure what you mean, Gootsy. ‘Divine intervention’ sounds scary. You gonna conjure up some religious figure or something? I mean I don’t mind a bit of hamming it up every now and then just for laughs but taking a religious turn is something else.”
“No, not religious, just… spiritual. Maybe Sarah-Jane has a friend, an angel…” Gootsy looked deep in thought.
Helen looked surprisingly pleased, as if Gootsy had got her point about ‘another level.’ “You got it, Gootsy, some quality ‘Angel Therapy’, that’ll do for starters; it will be a long haul this one. I prefer ‘divine inspiration’ to ‘divine intervention’, but I’m sure Gootsy won’t disappoint us.”
Gootsy smiled. “And you Helen, David, or maybe you JC, would you like to attend?”
“I’ll pass on that one,” said JC, quickly. “I’ll think I’ll go for a jog over the Heath. Thanks, anyway, Gootsy.”
“I’ll think I’ll join you, son, if that’s OK with you.” David looked relieved for a quick get out from ‘Angel Therapy’, the very thought of which made him shiver.
“Sounds great, dad, you’re on,” said JC immediately thinking of how fast he might set the pace.
“And what about you, Helen, would you like to attend?” asked Gootsy.
“I’ll think about it, Gootsy. I’m a positive maybe.” There are times to hedge your bets, thought Helen, and this was one of them. “In the meantime I think we’ll need to pull out all the stops with Sarah-Jane, I’ll start with a one-to-one session. We need to also keep a close eye on Sean. JC, why don’t you take Sean out for a jog before you and your dad wear each other out, and I’ll take Sarah-Jane through a Kaleidoscope Review. David maybe you can check up on Mark and Davy? How does that sound? OK, let’s get to work.”
***
“Thanks for seeing me Sarah-Jane. How are you finding Highgate?”
Sarah-Jane seemed somewhat distracted, as if her mind was elsewhere. Helen waited a few moments and tried again.
“It must be quite a culture shock in comparison to LA. How was the session with Gootsy?”
Sarah-Jane again failed to respond. Helen looked deep into Sarah-Jane’s eyes, trying to detect signs of life.
Sarah-Jane’s eyes suddenly lit up, as if a loose connection in her brain had miraculously been fixed. “It’s great here, really, Helen. That Gootsy guy is something else. Bit mad, but then again…” Sarah-Jane trailed off realising that she was on dodgy ground.
“Well, you’ll be seeing more of Gootsy later. In the meantime can we try something which I’ve found can be very useful, in certain circumstances.” Helen said.
“In ‘certain circumstances’, Helen. How do you mean?”
Sarah Jane was clearly a little worried about what Helen had in store, especially as she was beginning to understand that there was a certain unpredictability about The Place.‘
Helen placed on the table the same type of device she had used with Richard Beckett, one of several she had bought some time back knowing instinctively that it would be a useful tool to bring focus to a person’s life.
Helen knew well the sequence in which to push the little buttons, and as she did so she asked Sarah-Jane a loaded question in a quiet voice.
“Now Sarah-Jane, I should know this but I’d like to hear from you. What age will you be on your next birthday?”
Sarah-Jane looked at Helen as if she was being asked a trick question.
“Er, twenty-nine, I think, Helen.” Sarah-Jane sounded far from convincing.
“OK, Sarah-Jane, I think we can do better than that, don’t you?” Helen had anticipated that starting this session was going to be a challenge. “You must remember what year you were born?”
Sarah-Jane looked genuinely confused. “Er, I know it sounds a bit odd, but never been sure of that one, Helen.”
Helen gave Sarah-Jane a stern but friendly look. “OK, Sarah-Jane how about we take the date from your passport. When you arrived we put some of your things in a security box. I had a look at the date on your passport. Hope you don’t mind. As I recall you’ll be thirty-three on your next birthday. Does that sound right?”
Sarah-Jane placed a hand on her mouth in mild shock. “I’m thirty-two years old? Really?”
Helen, despite her years of experience, wasn’t totally sure whether Sarah-Jane was sincere or simply lying. It didn’t matter, they could start now.
“OK, Sarah-Jane. Look at this little clock thing. It’s quite cute isn’t it? I’m going to set a number – you see the number thirty-two? That number you see on the screen represents your thirty-second birthday – your last birthday. When I press a button that number will start to count down, you know from thirty-two down to zero.” Helen paused to make sure that Sarah-Jane was following.
“That’s neat, Helen. And what do I do?”
“What you do, Sarah-Jane, is think of your birthdays. You know, maybe where you were, who you were with, any special presents or fun moments, anything really that you remember about a particular birthday. We can start at thirty-two and work backwards or maybe there’s one particular special birthday you’d like to start with?”
“Sounds like a good game Helen. But I’m not sure that I can remember any of my birthdays. Not one. Not right now anyway. Can we play this game later? I’m feeling kind of tired.”
Helen felt quite taken aback that she could have misjudged a guest so badly. Sarah-Jane was nowhere near ready for this one and Helen accepted immediately that this would take time.
“Sure, Sarah-Jane. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to give you a piece of paper, a blank piece of paper. When you’ve got a quiet moment could you write down any birthday you remember or even a birthday you’d like to remember – and we can sort of try and fill in the blanks, you know, over time.”
“Yeah, that sounds OK, Helen. I’ll try that.”
“Good girl Sarah-Jane. OK maybe you’d like to have a little sleep before the next Gootsy session, you look a bit tired.”
“Thanks, Helen.” Sarah-Jane yawned. “Yep, you’re right; I do feel a bit tired. The air’s kind of different over here, it’s like I’m on another planet.”
27
JC and Sean paused for breath; they must have been jogging for a full twenty minutes and had covered quite a lot of ground.
“You’re pretty fit Sean. It helps being young too, I guess.” JC wasn’t used to being outrun by his jogging partners; it was normally JC who set the pace, but Sean was clearly the fitter of the two.
“I do a lot of dancing and stretching. I guess that helps, JC. OK, you ready for another circuit? Can’t be more than five kilometres.”
JC struggled to his feet. “No bother Sean, let’s do it.”
***
“How you doing, guys? Hope I’m not disturbing you. You look busy. You writing some new songs?”
“Hell no, David,” said Davy. “We’re writing a book. Would you believe it? It’s called The World According to Davy Crockett and Mark Bolland.”
Mark wasn’t having that one. “It’s actually called The World According to Mark Bolland and Davy Crockett.”
David smiled; they would have to work this one out on their own.
“What’s it about?” David asked innocently.
“What’s it about?” Davy asked, looking at Mark. “That’s what we’re arguing about. I mean discussing. That’s what you do with books, you know, discuss.”
“OK,” said David trying a different approach. “Who’s the book intended for, I mean what’s your market?”
“What’s our market? The market is the whole world, young and old, straight and not-so-straight, men, women, and everything in between. It’s for people who can read, that’s our market.”
David thought of Huck and then snapped out of it. “Well, sounds like you’ve covered all the bases.”
“Well, it’s a work in progress David. It’s sort of Aesop on Acid, do you get it?” Davy knew he was trying his luck with David.
“Aesop on Acid? Sounds er… interesting, Davy,” said David.
“Yeah, it is interesting, ‘cause it was my idea, that’s why it’s The World According to Davy Crockett and Mark Bolland and not The World According to Mark Bolland and Davy Crockett. We’re talking about stories of life for today’s savvy kids. It’s what Aesop would have written if he was kicking it in today’s world maybe living in Tottenham – he was a black dude brother – you know with the internet, and all the gadgets and all the distractions. We’re putting together little stories which bring home the important things in life. So far we’ve got ‘The Drummer and the Singer’, a story about a drummer and a singer. The drummer is the talented one who gets the boot from the band by the singer. Once the drummer’s gone the singer realises he hasn’t got any material to sing. Mark and I are sort of role playing the parts. Do you get it?”
“Sounds great Davy. What else you got?” asked David out of curiosity.
“I’ll tell you,” said Mark slightly put out. “We’ve got ‘The Guy Who Can’t Shut Up’, you know about a guy who can’t shut up,” said Mark staring at Davy.
“I’ll tell you what guys, I think you two need some quality space to work on this. I’ll catch you later, before the Gootsy session.”
“Yeah, that’s another story,” said Davy.
***
Inside the Encounter Area Davy, Mark, Sean and Sarah-Jane huddled together as if they were about to be told some bad news.
Gootsy bounded in looking fresh and mischievous.
“My, doesn’t the room look just great?” exclaimed Gootsy looking towards the rear wall, which was exposed to reveal a huge expanse of mirrors, like a dance studio.
Gootsy lined everyone up in front of the mirrors and challenged each member of the small group to pull a funny face. Eager to reduce the tension and get the game going, they all tried their gurney best but it sparked no collective reaction. The exercise appeared to fall flat and an embarrassing silence descended. The group, now distracted, collectively failed to notice what Gootsy was up to.
He held in his hand a remote control, and was discreetly pushing some pre-programmed commands into the device.
A few discrete projectors situated on the ceiling, which shed images on the mirrors, created the effect of a high definition plasma screen, larger than some multiplex cinemas; the result was so dramatic that each one of the group yelped in utter shock and fear.
As the lights went out and the simple sound of a healthy human heartbeat pounded out of the speakers. The group looked at the wall-sized screen and felt as if they were in a deep blue sea, swimming menacingly with a shoal of killer sharks ready to attack an unseen prey in a pre-frenzy ritual.
The sounds became subtly more complex; first there was the sound of an underwater swish of a shark’s tail, the frenzied ripping of some unidentified carcass. The scene changed dramatically to outer space as if the viewer was gliding across vast swathes of galactic wilderness between planets at a ferocious speed.
A voice came out of the speakers, Gootsy’s voice.
“We’re on a journey, through life. So intense, so brief, so sad.” The voyage through space continued round planets, through time itself. The images continued until it was apparent that the scene was now millions and millions of tadpoles, all heading towards a huge planet-like dome, each tadpole trying to burrow through the outer shell.
Gootsy’s voice came out clear and loud from the unseen speakers. “We’re one of millions. Our creation is a miracle, a flicker of life that comes and goes in the blink of an eye.”
The images suddenly changed in rapid succession from a smiling foetus to a young child crying in a corner holding a teddy bear, then a beautiful male teenager emerging from the sea to a man and woman holding a newborn baby; an old couple walking along an isolated beach against the backdrop of a perfect sunset, followed by the scene of a burial service being watched from above.
Suddenly the lights came back on and the images on the screen disappeared, and everything was as it was. The group was still staring at the mirrors, now only seeing themselves, speechless and stunned. Each one felt as if they had been born and died and been reborn in the space of a few minutes.
Gootsy stood in front of the group. “That was an experience wasn’t it? Now we’re all going to sit down a
nd have a little chat, now that I’ve got you in the mood to reflect on life.”
The group slowly sat down as best they could on the floor, in a small circle. “Now, my friends, I want to share something with you, something very, very special. Since I was a little boy, I’ve had a friend. You know the sort of thing, a special friend. But I’m not stupid you know. I knew that no one would believe me, they would all think I’m crazy. Could you imagine that, me – crazy? This friend has been with me all my life. It’s not a ghost, I don’t like ghosts. You know what this friend is?”
The group collectively shook their heads.
“It’s an angel,” said Gootsy, “my very own angel. It’s not male or female; it’s not young or old. It’s not sent from a Christian God, it’s my own special friend, my angel who looks after me. It’s not like a person, it’s more like a spirit, a presence – not a ghost, I told you, don’t like ghosts. What I do know is that my angel watches over me, guides me, loves me.” Gootsy paused. “You know I think each of us has an angel who is with us at all times, especially when we think they’re not there. Do you think I’m mad?”
Gootsy looked around the group waiting for an answer.
Mark had no worries on this score. “You ain’t mad Gootsy, you’re blessed. I’ve got an angel – well sort of – I reckon it’s my gran – my mum’s mum. Don’t worry Gootsy, I know what you mean, I’m not talking about a ghost, just, I don’t know, a presence. When she died I was very little but we were real close, I kind of felt she never left me; she’s not around all the time, only when I’ve needed her. I don’t ever see her but I have caught her fragrance if you know what I mean. You know in those days it wasn’t Channel Number Five it was just some common soap I guess. It would have been pretty cheap in those days but it’s the type of stuff you now only find in the best sort of natural beauty shops. Funny that.” Mark seemed to drift off, his nose sniffing the air.
Davy looked a bit taken aback. “You’re spooking me out brother. I mean when you’re gone, you’re gone. I ain’t denying your truth but hell I’m on own – always have been. My papa left us soon as he couldn’t mount my mama no more on account of me taking up his space, well, that’s the story my mama told me. That’s what she always said to me ‘we’re on our own, kid.’ Never seen him since, I don’t even know what he looks like.” Davy seemed suddenly very sad.