'Do you think the rock is in some way connected to your parents’ death?' Carla prodded so gently that Sophie almost felt sorry for her, having to baby Sophie in that way. Was she really that petulant or fragile?
'I have considered that in the past but the accident report makes no mention of any rock. The car just flipped, seemingly on its own accord. The report suggested that my dad was driving way too fast on a country road. I’m unsure where exactly. I’ve never been back to the spot,' Sophie shrugged nonchalantly.
'Hmm. Perhaps the rock represents something to you? A symbol?'
Sophie shrugged again. She'd been through this pop-psychology nonsense with herself before, reading all the dream interpretation books she could find. For a few months, she believed the rock represented her unexpressed grief and she tried to force herself to cry by watching movies where people’s loved ones died. Or newspaper articles that bore great tragedy. And although sad, the nightmares did not change course.
'Look, don't force it. With a few more sessions of hypnotherapy, we are bound to figure it out between us.'
Sophie felt somewhat assured. Even if Carla was pretending for both their sake's that Sophie, as a problem, could be fixed, she didn't mind. It was endearing that someone cared enough to try and to listen to her and acknowledge her dreams. Alex, although concerned, always seemed so dismissive when she tried to research her way to the bottom of them. Sometimes, she wondered if perhaps Alex found her more appealing because she had the nightmares. Less of a Ghost Girl and more of a three-dimensional story.
Slam!
A thin man in exaggerated makeup crashed himself up against the window, peering in. His eyes were forced wide open and his lids were painted like peacocks. The sides of his fists were creamy as they pressed against the window and his mouth hung open, his jaw pushed forward. Carla jumped and her blouse followed a split second later. Sophie silently and strangely wished it was a bird against the window so Carla could attest to the strange avian phenomena.
Slam!
He raised and slammed his fists again on the window, despite already having their attention. The few plants behind him rippled with his action. The window faced onto a neglected, unused courtyard that was home to nothing more than some red bricks and some wilting palms. Sophie was unsure how it was even accessed as she only ever came in from the door facing the street and there seemed to be no door leading out to it from Carla’s office. Running her eyes around the windowsill, Sophie could see that the window was painted shut, hence the lack of fresh air in the room.
Carla turned back to face Sophie, a hand pressed into her sternum and she let a whistle of air out. 'That made me jump!' she said, almost cheerily. 'Look, can you excuse me? I'll be right back. It's actually a patient of mine. Nothing to worry about. Will not be long.'
By the time Carla was outside mollifying the visibly frustrated man, Sophie had reached across the room to pick up a book that was glaring at her from the shelf. It wasn't planned, to grab the book, but now that it was in her hands she realised that it had been harping at her curiosity every single therapy session since she started. Often counting the books on the shelf— ten— as a nervous habit, as a distraction from the pronounced vulnerability that occurred every time she uncurled in her therapist's office.
The book's cover was brown and looked almost mouldy in certain lights. It was the size of an envelope but held the weight of The Bible. A cursory glance suggested it was doused in marketing, or even of some ancient significance. She flipped it over to reveal the front cover. Pressed out in bronze lettering was the title, Venus, with no author attribution, in fact, nothing else on the cover except the title. Inside were hand sketches of the planet, with various animals and symbols— some recognisable and ordinary, some not. How adorably absurd, Sophie thought to herself. And reached to put the book back.
As she tipped the top part of the spine back into the shelf, her sight was caught by the open gape of Carla's handbag. Nestled between an umbrella and some kind of fabric, was an object so familiar that Sophie felt a rush of nausea. Sophie would have recognised the glint anywhere. Instinctively, she bent down to pick it up but snapped her hand back, jolted by the guy outside who started shouting at Carla, his words garbled by the thick glass and the speed at which he was talking. Carla had her hands clasped patronisingly at her chest like she had just announced to a two-year-old that they were going to sing a song. Sophie watched as he leaned his face in closer and drew in a mean breath and she waited for Carla to be struck. But the guy lifted his chin and let his lips fall into a dangling frown and he shuffled away, his arms lifeless.
Carla, with her hands still clasped, turned to the window and looked directly at Sophie. Her eyes darted to her handbag on the floor and back up to Sophie's face with a tender recognition. Quickly, her face squeezed into a large grin.
Sophie quickly sat back down in her well-worn position as Carla stormed back inside, out of breath. She’d been running.
'So sorry about that. He's just a little agitated. I was trying to help him. Medication problems. You gotta feel for him, you know? Now, where were we?' Carla cocked her head, daring Sophie.
'I hope you don't mind, I just had a quick squiz at your books. That brown one is so gorgeous!' Sophie was rushing through her words but had her mind on what was in Carla’s handbag.
'Yes, it's a lovely little gift book someone gave me once. Sophie, are you okay? You seem rattled. Did my other patient upset you? I assure you he's fine.'
She looked at the ceiling to avoid looking at the bag and to buy time to work out how she could get another look inside. A closer look. Just to be sure that what she had seen was right. 'No, I'm completely okay. I'm sure you've got a handle on it. I was actually forcing myself to remember to grab some of that yummy tea on my way home. Where do you get it?'
'Mmm yes. I can't really remember. I'll have a think and let you know next session, okay? Drink up! You have hardly touched today's cup.'
Sophie mechanically sipped and bluffed her way through the rest of the therapy session but it was obvious to both of them that she couldn't stop thinking about what was in her bag. Keys held by a distinctive copper keyring. Alex's keys.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Once again forgetting to pick up the beloved tea, Sophie scrambled inside her house frantically throwing open the top two kitchen drawers. Swishing aside cutlery and ancient receipts, batteries, bits of homeless plastic, cords and cables. Desperate to see the oval keyring that she was so used to seeing in their house, in Alex's hands, in his pockets, on the kitchen bench where she had to repeatedly toss them out the way. She yanked his bedside drawer out from its home and tipped the contents—an expired nasal spray, three pens, clean tissues, more cords— all over the bed, swiping them aside with her hand. His set of keys weren't there.
Exasperated, she kicked the pyramid of clothes in the corner of their bedroom. 'You could have at least had the fucking decency to do your washing before you left Alex,' she shouted at no one. Her toe connected with a clunk of metal. Desperately, she hoped it was his keys. But it was merely the buckle on his best weekend belt and, sadly, the pockets of his jeans turned up especially empty, except for a scrap of paper. Scrutinising the paper, Sophie gasped when she understood what the hand-scrawled address revealed. It was an address she was extremely familiar with. Carla’s office!
Why did he have her address written down? Was he a patient too? The temptation to phone Carla and demand to know if Alex was a patient was overwhelming. Of course, she would not be able to tell her for confidentiality reasons. But surely, surely, she would allude to something if she showed enough distress? Was this why Carla had his keys?
Sophie felt her blood cool right down and fall away from her head. The simple explanation of Alex being Carla's patient and having accidentally left his keys in her office was so obvious, now that she was in the sanctuary of her home and had time to recentre herself. Instantly, the panic abated and left Sophie feeling humiliated, even though no one
knew what she'd just gone through except herself. Smacking herself in the forehead a couple of times, she said with fury, 'you're a fucking idiot Soph. You need to chill the fuck out a bit once in a while.'
The scattered items across their bed winked at her and she chastised herself even more for her uncontrollable emotions. The panic that was marring her every decision. The mental concoctions that stood in the way of finding real clues to Alex’s whereabouts.
The detritus on the bed reminded her that her moods and paranoia were a dysfunction that were severely affecting her life. 'This is exactly why you're seeing a shrink in the first place!' Swiping his drawer contents off the bed and onto the floor, she stalked out to the kitchen to get some wine. She could still taste lemon and ginger tea.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Two missed calls and a voicemail from Carla waited for Sophie upon waking the next morning. Her faithful therapist checking in on her after the window banging incident the day before. That's kind of her, Sophie thought. But then she remembered: Alex's keys... Alex's keys... sounded in her head over and over, like a mantra.
Sophie didn’t have to wait more than one ring when she rang her back. 'Carla, it's Sophie.'
'Oh, Sophie. Thank you for returning my call. Really, I just wanted...'
'Carla, can you tell me something? I just want to check with you because I've been going over it in my mind and if you could just tell me what I saw was real then maybe I could relax. And look, if he's your patient or anything, I understand and I know you can't really tell me...'
'Sounds like we need to make you another appointment Sophie. Would you like to come in today?'
Ignoring her question, she pressed on. 'I accidentally saw a bunch of keys in your bag and they looked a lot like my husband's and can you just tell me that he is okay?'
Sophie assumed Carla's silence meant she was pondering the right thing to say.
'I have an opening in an hour. Can you make that?'
You bet Sophie could make that.
There was a line of sweat around the rim of Sophie's hair. She could smell the mustiness of her t-shirt and her unwashed body and hoped Carla wouldn't notice. Carla opened her door at 9am and stood aside with a forlorn look, an arm pointing towards the couch. 'Sophie.' She sighed and half-smiled. A thousand spiders soldiered up Sophie’s throat. Whatever was coming was not going to put her at ease.
'I've got something to show you.' Carla bent over her office chair without uncrossing her ankles and snapped back up brandishing a cluster of unfamiliar keys. On it, a brand new keyring the same as Alex's weathered one. It bore a similar rose hue but had more life and polish to it. Sophie couldn't see any etchings.
'These keys are what you saw in my bag yesterday. They're mine. Do you still believe they are your husband's?'
'No, clearly not. I'm sorry... I just thought...'
'Sophie, it seems to me, in my professional opinion, which is what you are here for, right?' She didn't wait for acknowledgement. 'I think you are deteriorating. I do believe you can turn it around and get better quickly but as I see it, there have been a few more hallucinations and mental disturbances than a week ago. Would you agree?'
'No! I'm doing much better. I had the nightmare last night and I was able to go back to sleep quite quickly.' Sophie didn't know why she was lying.
'You've been having the nightmare again?'
Sophie realised her mistake.
'Sophie there's nothing frightening you have to do. I'm not suggesting you need to stay in a hospital or do anything outside of what we have been doing but I strongly advise we increase the frequency of our sessions.'
Sophie was relieved that she wasn't quite at the dreaded hospital stay stage, for that meant something more than it really was. It meant it would be harder to return to sanity whereas now she could return at any moment, living her life as she had always done before Alex left and when she had a job. It was entirely plausible, so far, in her narrative that if she could just get a decent night's sleep and wake up without the grainy burden of her mind slipping into mud, she'd be fine. Minus her husband.
'Do you think it's time I explore my options with medication? I mean, some of that Cymbalta or antipsychotics scare me a little but maybe something gentler? And some Valium?'
'No, Sophie. I would encourage you to avoid all this at all costs. I truly believe the work you and I do together will supersede your need for these types of medication and we can break through quicker without them. We're at a really crucial stage of your healing and narcotics will interfere with our progress.'
Sophie wanted to rebel and twisted her lips with her teeth, a little surprised that a health professional was advising against medication. But Carla obviously saw something that Sophie didn't so, for now, she would obey. And how could she trust her own mind as to what was right for itself when just days ago she actually thought she had the ability to fly? Sophie shuddered at the thought of flinging off the balcony onto the concrete and the people below. In the face of the alternatives, a few more sessions with Carla were not terrible. Anything to help her get back on an even keel so that when Alex eventually returned home, he would see what a capable, strong and balanced woman she was. He would be so impressed and Sophie would be so appealing, that Alex would reclaim his stake in their family and never deviate. He didn't even have to know that Sophie ever went through this unhinged phase. And this is definitely just a phase, she reminded herself.
Leaving her session with Carla feeling lighter, a spring had almost found its way into her step. It was an honest mistake; two keyrings could look the same.
As she came up to her car, Sophie stuck her hand in her pocket to find her keys. Her hand touched the piece of paper she found in Alex’s clothes with Carla’s address on it. It sat in her hand like a dead moth, reminding her of the anxiety and confusion she previously felt and she admonished herself for forgetting about it and not confronting Carla.
Looking around her, she made a split-second decision and spotting a sports clothing store, she ran into it. After a few minutes, she runs out with a new stiff cap and a heavy charcoal coloured cashmere scarf wound around her neck and hair to obscure her identity somewhat from a distance. If Alex visited Carla’s office, she wanted to be able to get as close to him as possible before he recognised her. She just needed to see his face. Whatever he truly felt for her, it would be held there. If he knew that leaving was a mistake and he didn't know how to come back to her, she would see it in the droop of his eyelids, the dourness of his mouth. If he was besotted with another, his eyes could never lie. Something within her, bubbling up from the middle of her bowel wanted her to pay attention. But the more she ignored the thought, tried to reason with it, logic it away. But it was no use. The stronger she fought with it, tried to meld it into another thought, the stronger it revolted. The thought was that Alex was having an affair with Carla. He had to have been. It explained the late nights at work, the distance he put between them, the paper with her office address on it. The similarity in keyrings only compounded Sophie’s belief more.
Sophie sat waiting in her parked car, near Carla's office, in amidst afternoon shoppers', in the boutique supermarket's car park. No one came or went from the office. There was certainly no sign of Alex. And Sophie's phone still remained unrung. The only movement was the increasing hurricane winding itself up inside her. The thin nights and the flaking off of her identity had left her weak; her legs and eyelids painfully heavy.
As five o’clock slipped by, Sophie had all but resigned herself to another night of mediocre wine, punishing nightmares and unanswered questions and she watched Carla, with assured hands, lock her office and slide towards her own car. The bright copper oval keyring hung from between her fingers. It was all Sophie could look at as she decided she was going to follow Carla home and confront her, and Alex, about their affair.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The day was grey all around them and Sophie was desperate not to lose sight of those devil red eyes of Carla�
�s brake lights that would lead her to wherever she was going. Home, she assumed. Sophie kept flicking her eyes back to the numbers on Carla's number plate and she it repeated over and over in case it slipped far away out of her mind. If she could just get a look at the keyring one more time, touch it, see it up close, she could be certain. If it really is new and not Alex's, I'll forget about this forever and can move on, she promised herself.
After both cars passed too many intersections and the city slipped further away, Sophie fumbled for her phone on the passenger seat, eyes still trained on Carla's car up ahead. 'Current location,' she requested from her phone, who parroted the name of the suburb that seemed only vaguely familiar. Fuck it, she thought. I'm doing this. And sat a reasonable distance from the back of Carla's car for a lot longer than seemed like a typical evening commute. When the grey cinder block buildings began to turn to dry pale yellow paddocks, Sophie was sure that Carla knew someone was following her and was just taking the piss. Making the follower drive along until they got bored or ran out of petrol.
The Tens Page 6
