‘So I’m green?’
‘At the moment you are. It’s a system I have to chart how people are progressing through therapy.’
‘What colours come after green?’ Catherine asked, as the doctor sat opposite.
‘Catherine – may I call you Catherine?’ she asked without pausing to acknowledge any response. ‘We can spend the entire hour talking about my colour-coding system or my filing system or even refusal to conform to the twenty-first century and buy a smartphone but that’s not why you agreed to my fees.’
‘What exactly am I paying you for?’ Catherine said, honestly. Her instincts told her that this woman was intelligent and perceptive and would appraise her within minutes.
‘Yes,’ she said, crossing one leg over the other. ‘I thought you were a non-believer but I would like to correct your question. What exactly have you paid me for? I ran your credit card details before the session in case you can’t pay.’
Catherine was shocked. So already her bank balance was lighter and she’d barely said a word. ‘That seems a little…’
‘Sensible?’ the doctor completed.
Catherine shrugged. She supposed so, but what if someone who was in desperate need of help was a little overdrawn and couldn’t pay? Would this woman just turn them away? Actually, she suspected not.
‘Nice art,’ Catherine complimented, nodding towards the east wall where the watercolour prints continued.
Emily’s face flushed with pride. ‘The artist is my daughter and, yes, she’s very talented.’
Catherine felt an inexplicable sickness in her stomach. She was relieved when the doctor rearranged her expression and glanced at her questioningly. She held up a shorthand notebook and pencil. ‘Do you mind? I prefer the old-fashioned way.’
No response was necessary from Catherine as Emily had already scrawled a couple of notes on the first page.
‘I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say,’ Catherine admitted, feeling self-conscious. She felt responsibility for all the pauses as the purpose was for her to talk.
‘Start by telling me why you’re here, and don’t lie.’
‘I’m not really sure what…’
‘I said, don’t lie.’
Catherine thought for a moment. ‘My husband forced me to make an appointment.’
‘Why?’ Emily asked, registering no surprise at her admission.
Catherine shrugged.
‘Why does your husband think this is a good idea?’
Catherine looked down at her feet. She didn’t want to say the words. It hurt her to have to admit to a stranger that her husband thought she was incapable of being a mother.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ Emily asked.
In an effort to play for time, Catherine answered that she would.
‘I’ve added a good measure of truth serum,’ the doctor said as she placed mugs on the table. Catherine noted they were emblazoned with the emblem of Shrewsbury Town football club.
‘I’m uncomfortable with this… situation,’ Catherine admitted.
Emily put her notebook aside. ‘What exactly do you mean by this situation?’
‘Sitting here talking to a stranger who has been paid to listen to me. It feels unnecessary.’
Emily nodded. ‘Of course it does. I’d expect nothing less from someone who had not come to me of their own volition. What you’re feeling is understandable. Within this room you can say as much or as little to me as you like. I have plenty of thoughts in my head to fill the silences, such as do I prefer pasta or a sandwich for my dinner. I can think about how poorly my favourite football team played last night or – now listen here because it’s important – I could actually be thinking of the best way of helping you overcome your problems. It’s your choice.’
Despite herself, Catherine smiled. Emily’s manner was somewhere between abrupt and firm, yet she found herself warming to her forthright attitude and kindly eyes.
‘So, tell me what event prompted your husband to decide that you need help?’
That was easy enough, Catherine decided. Maybe if she relayed the story precisely Emily would understand exactly why this was a waste of time for both of them and money for her. She relayed the whole episode, detailing their fight, word for word, in the kitchen.
Emily was thoughtful for a minute.
Catherine filled the silence as she felt inclined to do. ‘Do you see how unreasonable he’s being?’
‘Your husband seems to feel that you need help in two areas. He feels that you need to come to terms with what happened in your childhood and he feels that you have no connection to your children.’
‘That’s right,’ Catherine said, mortified at the absurdity of his accusations.
‘And you think he’s wrong?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why?’
Catherine suddenly felt frustrated. She had just explained the whole situation. She’d explained about her work and how important the promotion was.
‘You’re already siding with him,’ she said, defensively.
‘I’m not siding with anyone. You’ve explained the catalyst for your husband’s feelings and concerns but you disagree with him, so I’m only asking for your side of the argument. Why are his observations unfounded?’
‘Because I love my children.’
‘Be specific,’ Emily instructed. ‘You’ve given me an actual event from your husband’s viewpoint but a generalisation from your own. Give me an example.’
‘Well, I cook the breakfast, iron their clothes. I make sure that their gym bags are ready for school, I—’
‘I’m after something a little bit more but we’ll leave it for now. If you had to rate your achievements so far in your life from one to ten, where would you fall?’
Catherine thought about the question and decided to answer honestly. ‘Probably around an eight.’
Emily nodded. ‘When you visualised what your life would be as an adult, what did you see?’
Catherine remembered her dreams. ‘A husband, children, a good job, a nice home.’
‘So that would be your ten in achievement?’
‘Yes,’ Catherine nodded.
‘So why isn’t it?’ Emily asked, frowning.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Everything that you dreamed of you already have, so if that was your ideal dream, why isn’t your current achievement rate ten instead of eight? What’s missing from the picture you had in your head?’
‘I don’t know,’ Catherine admitted. ‘I have everything that I ever wanted, everything that I vowed I would have, and everything that she said I’d never… I’m happy. I don’t understand. It’s Tim who wanted me to come here,’ she said, feeling the words fall out of her mouth.
‘It may have been Tim’s idea but there’s a shortfall between the image of how the dream would be and the actuality of it in real life. It’s one of the things we need to find out about.’
‘But my children don’t suffer,’ she protested.
‘By your standards that may be true,’ Emily offered, kindly.
‘But— ’
‘I’m not here to judge you, Catherine. I’m here to help you. You provide for your daughters but… ’
‘I love my children,’ Catherine protested hotly. ‘I work hard to make sure that they want for nothing. I get up early and work late to ensure that…’
‘Okay, thank you. That’s very interesting but it’s not where I want to start work.’
‘You think there’s work to be done?’ Catherine asked, dumbfounded.
Emily smiled kindly. ‘Yes, Catherine, I think there’s a lot of work to be done.’
Eight
Alex
Alex leaned across the sink to get closer to the mirror. The scissors were poised high above her head while she tried to gauge the angle of the reflective hand cutting her hair. The half bottle of vodka was doing little to assist her.
As she aimed the scissors at the section just behind her fringe
the phone started to ring, startling her. She cursed and repositioned her hand, with no intention of answering the phone. It was probably Jay and she didn’t want to talk to him.
She’d successfully avoided him since the day after she’d stayed at Nikki’s. Since the moment she’d popped to the supermarket and refilled her alcohol supply. At the bottom of the first bottle she’d found the vague memory of a promise to her friend.
The realisation that it was already broken had forced her to open another bottle. Halfway through that she had resolved that it really hadn’t been a firm promise anyway. It was like the pact she’d made with Catherine as a child. She remembered when they’d both pricked a thumb and held the blood together, promising that they would always take care of each other. It was that kind of promise. The type you meant at the time but had no hope of keeping. Empty.
The phone stopped ringing and then started again. Her jaws clenched with irritation. Why the fuck did people do that? She obviously wasn’t home, so why keep bugging her?
She held out the sides of her hair, stretching locks to the middle of her ear. Perfect. Another couple of snips and her hair was exactly how she liked it. Short.
The sink was full of black, pin-like debris. She looked back to the mirror half expecting her mother to be standing behind her, a murderous look on her face as she had when Alex was seven years old.
She’d only wanted to trim her fringe. All her friends had sported shorter, tidier styles, ideal for running and gymnastics.
It was a school day so Mummy would brush it again with the silver comb that stabbed her head like a hundred pins. She’d tried not to turn too many times in the night so that it wouldn’t get so tangled, but she could see the knots running from close to her head to where her hair was resting against her upper arm.
Mummy refused to cut it, however much she begged. Catherine and Beth had shorter hair so why couldn’t she?
Alex had tiptoed into the bathroom, an idea occurring to her. She closed the toilet lid and stood on it to stretch to the bathroom cabinet. Behind the mirrored panel was a pair of black-handled scissors.
Alex jumped off the toilet and hurried to the dressing table in the bedroom. She smiled at her reflection as she clutched a handful of hair. If she cut out the knots it wouldn’t hurt to have it brushed. The sound of the scissors crunching along the hair close to her ears was followed by the length of hair falling to the ground.
Alex was pleased to see that it was a section of hair that contained a knot.
‘Oh no, Alex,’ Beth cried from the doorway. ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, what have you done?’ she cried, clutching the severed hair.
‘It’s tangled,’ Alex offered, confused at Beth’s concern.
‘Oh Alex, you shouldn’t have done—’
‘Shouldn’t have done what?’ her mum asked from the doorway. Alex saw Beth pale as she dropped the hair to the ground.
‘She didn’t mean to do it, Mum,’ Beth said, standing in front of Alex. Her mum slapped Beth around the face, sending her sideways to the ground.
Alex felt herself being dragged by the hair out of the room. She felt the pull on her hair and tried to keep up as her mum dragged her down the stairs and dropped her in the middle of the room.
‘So, you want to hack off your hair and look like a little fucking boy? Well, Mummy’s got a much easier way of doing it for you,’ she screeched as she opened the door that led to the kitchen. She moved the single armchair so that it was against the open door. She studied it for a moment.
‘Sit,’ she ordered.
Alex was confused. She’d thought Mummy would be pleased that she had got rid of the knots but now she wasn’t so sure. She’d seen this look on her mummy’s face before and now she was scared.
‘Sit,’ she said again, her eyes glazed and huge.
Alex sat.
She felt strands of her hair being pulled from the front of her head, not bunches of hair like she had clutched herself but thinner strands from the top of her forehead. Alex relaxed. This didn’t feel too bad. It wasn’t hurting as much as the daily combing did.
Beth appeared in the doorway, a red welt on the side of her face. The horror that formed her expression caused Alex to turn around.
The motion caused the thin strands of hair on her forehead to pinch painfully. The brief glimpse had shown her mum securing small thin clutches of hair to the handle of the open door with the elastic bands from her wrist, normally used for tying her hair into a tight ponytail.
Alex didn’t understand why her mum was tying her hair to the door handle.
‘Mum… please don’t… ’ Beth pleaded from the other side of the room. Alex realised that Beth had turned deathly white and the left hand that covered her mouth was trembling.
From the corner of her eye, Alex saw her mum stand back and study what she’d done. Alex tried to turn but her head was being held firmly in position facing forward.
‘Sit still and don’t move,’ her mum instructed before turning to Beth. ‘And you make sure that you watch.’
For a few seconds Alex had no idea what was happening as her mum’s figure went out of sight.
She glanced sideways at Beth who sat where she had been instructed. She had pulled her legs up in front of her and tears rolled over her cheeks. Alex wanted to ask her what was wrong but then three things happened all at once.
The door slammed behind her.
Clutches of hair were ripped from her scalp.
She passed out.
Alex closed her eyes against the memory and the nausea that came with it. She stared long and hard into the mirror, willing her mother to appear.
‘Come on, bitch,’ she whispered. ‘Do it to me now.’
As she re-entered the room the phone disturbed her again. She swore at it and proceeded to the kitchen area to get another drink. It was probably her boss wondering if she was going to make it into work this evening.
‘Highly unlikely, so fuck off,’ she bellowed as the ringing stopped again.
Alex had a sudden thought. What if there was something wrong with Jay? Maybe he was in trouble. Perhaps he was hurt.
She snatched at the handpiece when it began ringing again.
‘It lives,’ Jay cried, forcing her to move the earpiece two inches away from her ear. With the dull ache reverberating around her skull she wasn’t so sure his statement was completely accurate.
‘Meet me in an hour,’ he barked. ‘You know where.’
Alex replaced the receiver and marvelled at the brevity of the conversation. If it could be called that when she hadn’t uttered one single word.
On her way to Birmingham Bull Ring she picked up some of the fruit bonbons that Jay loved so much, though she had the feeling it would take more than his favourite sweets to butter him up.
She entered the outdoor market from the street entrance and any hope she’d had of ingratiating herself further by having a large latte ready for his arrival were dashed as she spied him sitting at their usual table with two frothy drinks before him.
‘Hey gorgeous,’ she said, bending to kiss his cheek.
Jay evaded her touch expertly and Alex realised that her efforts to act normally were not going to work.
She sighed as she sat opposite him thinking that denial was a wonderful place to be, if only people would let her stay there.
‘Take your glasses off,’ Jay instructed, frowning.
Alex growled and removed them. The day was fresh and bright, and it pierced her eyes.
‘You’re like some type of fucking vampire and you look like shit.’
‘Cheers, pal, I appreciate your tact. Don’t beat about the bush and just tell me how—’
‘You lied to me,’ he said, fixing her with a direct glare.
Alex swallowed. She could tell by his face that he was not going to be easily placated.
‘Look, Jay, it’s not serious. I’m really going to stop. It’s just a difficult time with my mother—’
‘That’s a cop-out, A
lex. You hadn’t seen the woman for years. There was no love lost between the two of you.’
‘She was my mother,’ Alex offered weakly. Jay knew little of her past, but Alex regretted telling him anything at all. It proved her life philosophy: don’t let anyone know anything because they’ll just end up using it against you.
‘I don’t accept that. It was getting bad before your mother died. It’s just that now you think you have a reason.’
‘Come on, Jay. It’s really not that serious. I like to have a couple of drinks now and again.’
‘No, you like to have a lot of drinks during the hours that you’re upright, which incidentally are getting less and less.’
‘See, it must be getting better,’ she said, brightly.
Jay didn’t respond. He stirred the frothy liquid and placed the spoon in the saucer.
‘You lied to me,’ he said, quietly. The words punched her in the gut. It was the disappointment in his voice. She reached for his hand but he withdrew it.
‘Jay, I meant it but I was just… ’ Her words trailed off. She was just what? She had no excuse and Jay knew it. That’s why he was so hurt. He knew that she’d never really taken the promise seriously.
She lit a cigarette, wondering how to make Jay forgive her. Life was shit and empty as it was but without Jay it would be intolerable. He was the only person she had.
‘Look, I’ll try. Really try. I promise—’
‘Don’t,’ he said, thumping the table. The drinks clattered in the saucers.
Alex was startled. She’d never seen him like this. Her stomach began to churn.
‘Don’t promise something that you just can’t do. It weakens you.’ He paused and then fixed her with a stare. Alex realised that there was more going on here than her broken promise. He looked drawn. Dark circles were evident beneath his eyes. His skin was pinched.
‘Have you had a drink today?’ he asked.
‘Of course not. It’s only half past ten.’
‘I thought not. Your hands are trembling.’
Dear Mother: A gripping and emotional story that will make you sob your heart out Page 8
