Get me out of here, I thought. Name tags? Jaysus, I really was back in school.
Matt handed the badges around.
‘My assistant Matt is sitting in on the course as part of his study for a Master’s degree in Psychology. He will not be participating. He will be more of an observer. If anyone has any objection to this, perhaps you might let your thoughts be known now… no? Wonderful! When you are finished with your badges, we can begin.’
I stared at the stupid badge. How was I feeling today? How the fuck should I know? I felt a series of different emotions, the most prominent one being confusion. I wanted to be here because of Matt. I knew that was the wrong reason, so I felt confused about the whole thing. I also wanted some answers. An answer to my ever-increasing lack of interest. My ongoing resentment over David. My struggle with parenthood. My eating problem. My lack of interest in sex. Yes, that was a good one. It was hardly likely that I would find answers to that one, on a course about family history.
It was so long since I had done anything that it felt good just to have made the effort. Just to be there. Especially with Matt beside me. I had felt the loss of Joe deeply. That was exactly what I had felt — a great loss. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think about him without pain. It was a horrible sensation. I knew we were still friends; I knew we always would be — but something had changed. It seemed everybody had changed, except me. Why?
The fact that Joe and I had never gotten involved sexually kept me dangling. Always wondering, always curious. For fifteen years, we had shared a platonic relationship. I was always afraid that if we crossed that line, that invisible line, we would lose each other. I felt I had lost him anyway. Most ironically, to another woman. When we met now, I wanted to tell him that. It was an effort to keep it inside. Keep my mouth shut. Juliet had turned out to be a great partner for him. I could not deny that. I just always wondered, what would have happened if? What if? My life was an endless string of ‘what ifs’. Here I was, experiencing another. Although this ‘what if’ had far-reaching consequences. This one was dangerous. I was playing with fire, and I knew it. However, I enjoyed the sense of perilous excitement. My life was so boring.
I wrote my name on the white piece of card and drew my picture underneath.
Woody Allen stood up again. ‘Now then. Please introduce yourself, and if you like you can tell us a little bit about your background. Let’s start, from the left, please.’
The first participant on the left was a man.
‘My name is Fr… Fra… Frank,’ he stuttered. He had drawn a picture of some clouds. ‘I don’t have… have… have… much to say,’ he finished.
Frank was a tiny man. Slight in build with the worst wig I had ever seen in my life. It perched on the top of his little head like a thatched roof. It was much too big and looked like something one would pick up in a car boot sale. The ends curled outwards leaving a gaping hole underneath. I found it really hard to refrain from getting up and fixing it myself. He sat on his hands and rocked backwards and forwards. His nervousness was evident. I felt sorry for him.
‘What do your clouds represent, Frank?’ Brian asked.
The little man was mortified. He didn’t like being asked anything.
‘I… I… I’m not sure,’ he stammered. ‘I think… I’d like… like… like… to use the toilet.’
‘By all means.’ Brian pointed to the door. Frank excused himself and we moved on.
The second person to speak was a woman.
‘I’m Diane. I’m separated.’ She breathed a sigh of relief as if to say, Thank God I got that out. Her badge depicted a clown, with the mouth turned downwards. ‘I came because I… well, because I just can’t figure things out any more. I know my family have a lot to do with why I am the way I am.’
Diane was immaculate. Beautifully groomed and wearing the very best of clothes. Her suit was perfectly pressed. Underneath she wore a crisp white blouse. Her make-up was flawless and her elegant shoes shone like diamonds. She constantly pinched the skin on the back of her hands. Her neck and wrists displayed a glittering array of gold jewellery. Each time she lifted her hand to her face, she would scratch the side of her nose with her perfectly polished nail, and her jewellery would clink, clank, clink, like a wind chime. I guessed she was probably in her fifties, but wanted to look like she was in her thirties. She had probably been extremely beautiful in better days. Life had dealt Diane some pretty rotten hands — any fool could have seen that.
‘What does your badge say about you, Diane?’ Brian probed.
Diane was pensive. ‘I guess I feel pretty depressed,’ she replied simply.
Here’s your sister.
Next came another man, a younger one.
‘I’m Bertie. Bertie O’Neill.’ This one stood up, cleared his throat and looked like he was going to be at it for quite some time.
His badge had a round face with a big bright smile on it.
‘I’m a salesman. I’m forty years old. I’m a gambler. I started to gamble some years ago, when my marriage broke up, but that’s another story. I’ll save it for another day.’
Thank God for that.
He laughed loudly. Nobody found it amusing, but Bertie wasn’t put off in the slightest. He was on a roll. He rubbed his hands together like he was addressing potential customers.
‘I went to Gamblers Anonymous about three years ago, after the house was repossessed. It was a shocking time for all of us, especially the children. Thank God, I’ve been on the straight and narrow ever since. I came to do the course because I too realise my addiction was handed down to me by my father. You see, my father was a gambler and — ’
‘And what does your badge say, Bertie?’ the facilitator interrupted him at last.
‘I’m a happy man today, thank God. I hope to be able to help someone here in my turn. I happen to know a lot about — ’
‘Yes. Thank you, Bertie,’ Brian interrupted him again, but ever so gently. He was good; I’ll say that for him.
The next man, sitting beside me, took his turn.
‘I’m Connor,’ he whispered. His badge had nothing on it at all.
Connor was about sixty years old. He was probably the oldest of all the people in the room. Connor muttered and mumbled, and was barely audible. Everyone leaned forward to catch what he had to say.
‘I’m here because my wife thought it might interest me.’
That was all we got from Connor.
‘I notice you have left your badge blank, Connor. Any particular reason for that?’
Connor looked confused. Like he wasn’t sure how to answer.
It’s not a trick question, Connor. Any day now. We’ve all the time in the world.
‘No. I just couldn’t think of anything, sir.’
‘That’s fine, Connor,’ Brian smiled at him. ‘And you needn’t call me sir. Brian will do just fine.’
‘Sorry, Brian.’ Connor seemed disturbed and shifted noisily in his chair. He blew into his handkerchief every couple of minutes. If he hadn’t done that once in a while, we would have forgotten he was there at all.
It was me. I stayed sitting.
‘I’m Jack,’ I said. ‘I’m a friend of Matt’s. He suggested I do the course, that I might find it interesting. Here I am,’ I finished.
‘I must say, I am intrigued with your badge, Jack. Would you care to explain it to the rest of the group?’
My badge had a dirty big black scribble on it. Nothing more.
‘Well, I’m confused about a lot of things. Especially my family,’ I surprised myself by saying.
‘Things are a bit messed up, I suppose.’ Diane smiled at me knowingly.
With the introductions over, the Woody Allen clone stood up and started to talk. Much to my astonishment I found the whole thing fascinating. Matt winked at me. I smiled back. How had he known I would enjoy this so much? I tried hard to concentrate, to give the impression I was really interested — whi
ch wasn’t hard after a while. It really was interesting.
However, Matt was a distraction. I found it difficult not to look at his hands. Perfectly soft downy hairs covered them. They were small and unblemished, sleek and slender. They didn’t look at all like a man’s hands. Matt’s were soft, like he had never done a hard day’s work in his life. I thought about holding them. What they would feel like to touch. What my own hand would feel like in his. I thought about us when we were kids, how he had escaped to our house. I thought about his own family history and marvelled at his success. He had survived, relatively unharmed.
The facilitator was animated and intense. He gave everybody plenty of room to breathe, frequently stopping to allow feedback and questions, before he went any further.
The time flew by. Soon it was 8pm and Brian called a halt for a refreshment break. Matt disappeared and returned a few minutes later pushing a trolley loaded with pots of coffee and tea and plates of biscuits. I looked away from the biscuits. I wanted to eat all of them, but was determined not to let anyone see my weakness.
I watched Diane pick at one biscuit. She turned it into a meal; holding the crumbs in her delicate hand, she nibbled in a ladylike way, enjoying every last morsel. How I wished I could eat like that.
‘I only ever have the one,’ she confided.
‘How do you do it?’ I found myself asking her. ‘I can’t have just the one, I’m afraid. I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. I always seem to end up eating the whole packet, then I hate myself.’
‘I know, dear. I know. I used to do that myself. When Rory, my ex-husband, left me, I ate my way through shopping bags of biscuits and cakes. I told myself I deserved them.’
I laughed. ‘You’re so thin, how did you manage not to put on weight?’ I was really, really curious. Diane was like a stick insect. Where had she put the fat? On her big toe?
‘Oh dear. That’s a long, long story. The food never actually stayed in my stomach for long. I always made sure I vomited straight after the binges. I only recently realised I am bulimic.’
Just my fucking bad luck. Why couldn’t that happen to me? If I had just visited my best friend who was dying of cancer, I’d still find room to pack in a few thousand calories.
I could never have made myself sick, I thought wryly, no matter how much I ate. The more I ate, the more room I seemed to be making. I had so many spare tyres, they did a lap all by themselves. Diane certainly didn’t look too healthy close up. Despite the beautiful outward appearance, I noticed her teeth were discoloured. Her hair, although impeccably set, looked brittle and lifeless.
Matt joined us. Our first conversation of the day.
‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked me, sipping his cup of coffee.
‘I hate to admit it, but I’m actually enjoying it.’ I was enjoying it, but I wasn’t exactly sure why. I guess the adult conversation that had been missing in my life was one part of it. Getting out of the flat for a break was nice too. It was good to have somewhere to go. I enjoyed hearing other people’s point of view. I realised I wasn’t the only one in the world who had questions.
‘I told you so.’ He tapped the side of his nose.
‘Where do these people come from?’ I asked him.
‘Everywhere. This course is always full. People come in for all kinds of different reasons.’
Tell me about it.
‘I always find it intriguing,’ he told me. ‘As the course goes on, people get to know each other a little bit better; it’s great when that starts to happen. Secrets begin to come out. They confide things. They see things. I love it. I keep coming back for more.’ Matt’s eyes were wide with enthusiasm. His passion was making me blush.
Passion. I hated that word! Passion was something that had always seemed discordant and remote to me. I had never felt passionately about anything. Except him, of course.
Now, for the first time in years, I felt a tiny flicker — a mere flash of inspiration. A sense of being on the precipice of something great. Like I had been guided here. I wanted some more — of what, I couldn’t tell. Just something slightly reminiscent of what I felt when I was younger. A barely tangible something. I could feel it inside me, warm and glowing. Then it dawned on me. Hope. It was hope. The thing I had learned to fear so much. I hadn’t a notion what I was hoping for — that didn’t matter. Matt had rekindled an old me. I felt alive, just for a split second. Fresh. Full of the certainty that anything was possible. That wonderful eternal confidence of adolescence, still unconditioned by life’s experience. The experience of reality.
I looked around me and wondered what paths had led these characters to this room here today. Were they the same as me? I could empathise with Diane. I could understand Connor. I could even stretch as far as Bertie who couldn’t shut up. Why should he? He probably hadn’t been listened to for years.
Brian called us to regroup and I took my seat. He continued to talk and I listened. It was no longer an act. My concentration improved by the minute. I was drinking in every word and syllable. I was drunk with want. Wanting to know, to understand, to be me again. That is, until the end of the first session when Brian, alias Woody Allen, knocked me for six with his closing remarks.
‘I hope you all enjoyed this first session.’
Everybody nodded their heads in agreement, including me.
‘There are some things now that I wish to suggest to you all before I give you your first exercise. When initiating this course in the past, I have found it helpful to lay down some ground rules, so to speak, some little tips I have picked up along the way. There are no rules, of course, just suggestions. I feel obliged to pass them along to you. They have been formed with everyone’s best intentions at heart. It is totally up to you to do what you want with them. I am simply handing them to you. After that, it is nobody’s business but your own. Again, I remind you, they have come about through my own experience of what happens to individuals who have completed the course in the past.’
He took a deep breath, and continued. ‘Because of the nature of these exercises, I recommend that those of you who are single — that is, not in any relationship at the moment — refrain, if at all possible, from getting involved emotionally until the course is completed.’
My mouth hit the deck.
‘The reason I suggest this will become apparent as we go along. Discovering your family history may become quite upsetting for some and even more so for others. There are certain things about our childhoods and families that have perhaps remained a secret for years. Maybe there was a great deal of pain attached to your family of origin. These memories can at times become overwhelmingly distressing. I am here to help you through whatever might come up for you. That is why it is imperative that you do not make any new emotional attachments while participating in the course. Any questions?’
Yes. What’s the minimum sentence for Grievous Bodily Harm in this country?
I looked at Matt. He smiled gently at me. The penny dropped. He knew this already. Of course he bloody knew it! He was no more interested in me than the Man in the Moon. I wanted to stick a knife in his eye. I felt like a pathetic piece of shit. All this time, I had fooled myself into believing there was something between us. That he had asked me to do this course as an excuse to see me.
With increasing despondency I realised his true motive. I was a guinea pig. A case. An interesting specimen for him to study. The bastard. I was so humiliated I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I swung my leg back and forth, barely hearing anything else the facilitator was saying. He was still waffling on. I twirled my hair, a habit I had formed as a child. I twirled it and twirled it until a great big knot formed in the middle. If the facilitator didn’t shut up soon I would die. Oh God, how could I have been so naive? I wanted to cry, but my anger was consuming me so much, it kept the tears at bay. Thank God for my rage. It kept my dignity intact.
I looked at my watch and noticed it was 9pm. Time to go. Thank G
od for that. Brian shoved a piece of paper into my hand.
‘Please will you read the instructions carefully. Take your time. This exercise will require patience and tolerance. I want you all to come back next week with your written work. I look forward to seeing you all then. And remember, have fun! It is most important that you enjoy what you are doing.’
Have fun? I’ll give you something funny. Something to laugh about. How about me, sitting here with my delusional dreams?
Chairs moved noisily and people began to don their coats. They chatted loudly, exchanging views on what they thought about the first session. I was not of a mind to discuss any of it. I simply wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I saw Matt approaching me. Diane intercepted him. She asked him a question. Oh, how I love you, Diane! I made a run for it. I was never going back there. No matter what.
At home, I hadn’t the heart to phone Karen, or Joe, or my mother. I prayed to Jesus that Alice would leave me alone. I was so embarrassed. Every time I had tried to move out of myself, something like this happened. I thought about the logic of the facilitator’s advice not to embark on new relationships at this time. I wasn’t stupid. It was probably very appropriate advice indeed.
I certainly was aware of my own family history. Unfortunately. Unlike others, I would have no problem remembering any of it. I lived with it daily, and every time I went to visit Mam and Dad.
Things had not changed in our home, and never would. I just felt I needed some support to do this course, but I couldn’t call on my family for help. I was alone. Anyway, it didn’t matter now. I was not going back. Besides, I knew all about my family; what more could I want to know? What extra knowledge could enlighten me any more than I already was? The whole idea was absurd. I was just so hurt over Matt. I thought he had cared about me.
That was when the two voices started up again. I went through the following day, listening to them both. The screaming monkeys had taken up permanent residence in my brain. It was a never-ending barrage of thoughts and feelings. I carried on trying to ignore them. David kept me occupied most of the time. I helped him with his homework and made the dinner. I rambled down to Fairview Park and played with him in the playground. When I looked in my purse, I saw a paltry £10 note. It wasn’t enough for what I wanted. What I needed.
The House that Jack Built Page 13
