It had always been the same. Alex the rebel. Alex the mouthy one. Alex the tough kid. Alex, the youngest who had probably needed their mother the most. And Catherine had always known that, had always tried to protect her fragile heart from the pain.
Catherine gently touched the top of her head, wishing to make contact with an inch that wasn’t painful. She stroked gently at the coarsely cut hair. The tears spilled from her eyes and Catherine made no attempt to stop them. ‘I’m so sorry, Alex. So very sorry.’ Catherine wasn’t sure what she was apologising for. All she knew was that she felt sorry to the depths of her heart for this battered, broken soul.
She moved closer and held her sister close. Bitter, frightened tears ran over her cheeks and on to her sister’s head. She stroked Alex’s hair gently.
‘I’ll never leave you again, I swear.’
Half an hour later Catherine’s head rested on the steering wheel of her car. The tears fell unashamedly and in those moments she knew hatred she had never felt before. The fire consumed her whole being.
Their mother had done this to Alex. If Catherine knew nothing else, then she knew that. Their mother’s cruelty had damaged them all and only she was responsible for the condition in which Alex now lay in a hospital bed. She was loath to drive away, wishing she could return to Alex’s side, but the ward sister had made it clear that Alex needed her rest and that Catherine had visited for long enough.
Catherine took deep breaths to stem the emotions raging through her. She wanted revenge. She wanted her mother before her now. For the first time in her life Catherine felt capable of murder.
She fought the tears away, pushing the image of Alex’s battered body to the back of her mind. She needed to talk to someone and there was only one person who could help. She reached for her mobile phone and rang the number on the card in her purse.
The call transferred to an answering machine and a wave of hopelessness settled around her. Never had she felt so alone.
‘Emily, it’s Catherine Richards. If you’re there please pick up. I need to talk to someone. I think I’m going mad. My sister has been beaten to within an inch of her life and—’
‘Catherine?’ Emily’s voice was warm and concerned and a relief to Catherine as the darkness stole around her stationary car.
‘Please help me. It’s all falling apart. I don’t know what to do.’
Silence met her ears.
‘Please,’ she whispered in desperation. She could understand the woman’s reticence. It was almost ten at night.
‘Okay, you know where I am.’
Catherine almost cried with relief. ‘Thank you, thank—’
‘And, Catherine, drive carefully.’
Catherine ended the call.
She left the city centre with Emily’s words ringing in her ears. The winding country lanes were filled with visions of her sister lying silent and hurting on a hospital bed. The car lurched forward as anger reached into every cell of her being. She clenched the steering wheel hard, afraid of the intensity of her emotions.
Relief flooded her body as she pulled up outside the house of the therapist, but she was dismayed when she realised that she could barely recall the journey.
Emily had the door open before she’d left the confines of the car.
‘I’m sorry for calling you so late,’ Catherine said. ‘But I just didn’t know who else I could talk to.’
Emily waved away her apology and guided her past the closed door of the office. Beyond a heavy wooden door was a kitchen fashioned of light pinewood and glass panels displaying kitchen wares. Illumination was provided by lights that shone from beneath the cabinets. Two football mugs steamed on a small wicker table.
Catherine instantly began to relax.
‘Don’t worry. I was watching a re-run of Frost on my own. So what’s happened?’
Catherine told her about the phone call from the hospital and described Alex in detail. Her voice cracked and salty tears stung her red-raw eyelids.
The woman looked horrified and paused for a moment when Catherine finished.
‘I'm sorry for your sister, Catherine, but what can I do for you? You never came back after I told you we had a lot of work to do. Did it scare you?’
Catherine weighed the question and answered honestly. ‘Partly, but to be honest I thought you were wrong.’
‘So how’s the family?’
‘It’s fallen apart,’ Catherine admitted. There was no point holding anything back or even trying to lie to Emily. She had asked for the woman’s help and truth was the only thing she had to offer.
Emily nodded. ‘That must be hard for you but it’s not the most pressing point at this time of night, is it?’
Catherine wasn’t sure what prompted her to recount every detail she could remember of her childhood, but once she started she couldn’t stop. It was like a vacuum storage bag. Once released everything fell out.
She told Emily about the cruelty and the beatings and the fear and the hunger and the pain and every other negative emotion that had formed her childhood years. Finally, she sat back, exhausted.
‘Jeez, I can see no good reason why you’d have problems later in life at all. Hardly The Waltons, is it?’
‘Catherine, you have to understand that you’ve just given me enough material to work through for the next few years and that’s before we even start on your current family situation. Every single thing you’ve just told me has gone some way to shaping the person you are today. It’s going to be a long process to unearth and face a lot of your feelings, but if you want to work through it you have to commit to letting me help you.’
‘Can you help us all?’ Catherine asked, weakly.
‘I can try, but first you have to understand a few things. Although you remember the events of your childhood you recite them with the cool detachment of a disinterested onlooker.
‘You’ve done this to guard yourself from the pain, but during the healing process that will change and you will see yourself in those situations and you’re going to feel a lot of painful emotion. You’ll want revenge and I can’t give it to you. You’ll want cast-iron understanding of why it happened and I can’t necessarily give that to you either, but eventually there will be real acceptance and a positive way that you can move forward. I’m not going to lie to you, anything more is a bonus. We can talk generally about your sisters but unless they come to me for help my priority is in helping you.’
Catherine thought for a moment and nodded her head. She understood what Emily was telling her. She understood that she wasn’t going to wake up one morning having dreamt her childhood. It was always going to be part of her but maybe she could learn to live with it. She only knew that she had to get help and she had to get help for all of them.
‘You said we could talk generally about my sisters?’
‘We can, but my focus has to be on you.’
‘The middle sister, Beth, doesn’t remember anything. She suffered the most horrific injury of us all yet she still talks of our mother fondly.’
‘From what you’ve said, Beth never got the chance to leave home. You were forced out and your youngest sister ran away as soon as she could, leaving Beth at home with your mother. It sounds as though she’s in complete denial because she had to make her own situation as acceptable as she could. Did you say your mother became ill shortly after Alex left?’
‘She suffered a stroke.’
‘So, Beth really had no place to go. She was scarred badly, afraid of the world and how it would treat her, and suddenly her mother is now dependent on her. It was a coping mechanism that helped her deal with a life from which she had no escape.’
Catherine understood Emily's words but she was still unsure. ‘But, even now, after all this time, she still talks as if the woman was some kind of saint.’
‘Her mind will let her remember when it thinks she is strong enough.’ Emily frowned.
‘What?’
‘After so many years of denial it’s g
oing to be tough for her when she does remember. Half her life has been spent glorifying a woman who doesn’t exist. She’s going to need some help when the façade comes crashing down.’
Catherine’s head fell into her hands as she thought about the three of them. Alex was lying in a hospital bed having retreated to God knew where. Beth was hovering on the precipice of discovering that her whole life was a lie and she herself felt as though she was hanging on to sanity by a thread.
‘Why?’ she asked, wearily.
‘I can’t answer that, Catherine. I didn’t know your mother and can’t begin to understand her motivations. There may have been some form of mental illness involved but I can’t speculate. We can only deal with the effects of abuse on the people who are left.’ Emily took a deep breath. ‘There are four types of abuse: physical, neglect, sexual and emotional.’
‘Well, three out of four ain’t bad,’ Catherine muttered, with a weak attempt at humour.
‘People who have been physically abused may suffer from poor self-image, aggressive behaviour and often drug or alcohol abuse.’
Catherine’s thoughts drifted right back to Alex. Although they’d all suffered physically at the hands of their mother, Alex had seemed to get the most beatings. She was the one who just wouldn’t stay down.
‘Neglect is normally categorised as refusal or delay in seeking healthcare, abandonment or expulsion from the home. Typically, people have an inability to trust or love others and become passive and withdrawn. Of course, there’s also psychological neglect. Emotional abuse can be psychological, verbal and cause mental injury. Things like scapegoating, belittling and rejection.’
Catherine shook her head, bewildered. ‘Jeez, it’s complicated.’
‘That’s just a brief overview to help you get a basic understanding of the types of abuse and neglect that you’ve all suffered. Remember, children are the only people in this society that anybody is allowed to hit. The rest of us are legally protected.’
Catherine thought about that. Society sure was fucked up.
‘So, you can see that we have a lot of work to do,’ Emily said, stifling a yawn.
Catherine was surprised to find that it was after midnight and they’d been talking for almost two hours. One question burned the tip of Catherine’s tongue: ‘How much is my mother to blame for the way I feel about my children?’
‘Phew, that’s a hard one,’ Emily said, fixing her gaze on a point somewhere above Catherine’s head. Catherine was starting to realise that Emily did this whilst thinking about her answer.
‘Every single thing we do leaves a mark on us in some way. Everything we experience has an effect. In a reasonably normal childhood, whatever that is,’ she said with a smile, ‘the average positive to negative ratio of comments is one to four; so for every time a child is told, “Well done”, there will be four negative comments. All that information gets stored in the subconscious part of the mind, which is like the typical iceberg. The conscious part is the bit above the water but the subconscious is much bigger.’
‘I don’t get the difference.’
‘Okay, think about touching a hot cooker. It’s your conscious, immediate mind that knows it is hot and that it hurts. But it’s your subconscious mind that stores the information so that you won’t do it again. It’s the same with negative comments. If someone tells you enough times that you’re stupid, your subconscious mind will allow you to believe it and your actions will alter accordingly.’
Catherine shook her head, confused. ‘But take Alex and me. We both got similar treatment as children but I received all the things my mother said that I wouldn’t and Alex didn’t.’
Emily nodded. ‘Absolutely, you used your conscious mind to get those things. Always, your focus was on proving your mother wrong. But what we have to find out is whether or not you really believe that you deserve those things. Do you see the difference?’
Catherine nodded her understanding, new thoughts clouding her mind. ‘So, you’re saying that Alex has known all along that she didn’t deserve anything better and therefore played into the hands of her subconscious mind?’
‘Yes. She never hid from her subconscious thoughts. They were with her all the time so she rarely tried for anything better, whereas you got the things your mother said you would never have but there’s still something that prevents you from enjoying them.’
‘Christ, my mind is spinning.’
‘Is that your conscious or subconscious mind?’ Emily asked, with a smile.
‘Both.’
‘Do you now agree that we have quite a lot of work to do?’
‘Where do we start?’ Catherine asked, daunted by the task ahead.
‘We start with bite-size chunks. Tonight I’ve given you an overview of different situations to give you something to think about, but our sessions will be very different. The hard work will be coming from you and you’ll begin to answer your own questions with me just guiding you along.’
Catherine sighed with relief. She felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
She thanked Emily profusely for agreeing to meet with her at such a late hour and promised to contact her the following day to schedule appointments. This time Catherine knew she’d keep that promise.
Exhausted, she made the journey to the hotel and tried to sleep whilst battling to rid herself of the vision of her battered and torn sister lying motionless in hospital.
Catherine glanced at the clock over Mr Leigh’s shoulder, trying not to be too obvious about it. It was a safer bet than rolling up her coat sleeve and checking her watch. The minute hand was just peeping out from behind her boss’s ear, saying it was after six thirty. Visiting started at seven and although she hadn’t been late yet, one evening she’d cut it fine, and even though Alex still hadn’t spoken, she had punished her by spending the whole two hours with her eyes firmly closed. Catherine didn’t want to be late again.
‘It’s not that I don’t think you can handle the workload, Catherine. I just feel that you may be a little distracted at the moment.’
‘My sister is—’
‘I understand that,’ he said, holding his hand up. Catherine knew that he didn’t wish for the finer details. ‘But this contract is very important to the company and you assured us that you could see it through. I know that you have personal problems at the moment but they have to be put aside. You were placed in a position of trust with this project.’
Catherine fought the urge to place her hands around his sanctimonious throat, clenching her fists to her sides. ‘I accept your point, Mr Leigh, and I can promise you that things are going to run smoothly. I will do whatever it takes to deliver this contract on time.’
The muscles in his face visibly relaxed and Catherine hoped that she’d said enough to get him out of the office before the long hand hit the eight.
‘I have every faith in you, my dear.’
Catherine nodded as he turned and left the room. How quickly she had changed from Catherine to ‘my dear’ following a few clichéd platitudes. The second he disappeared into the elevator, Catherine grabbed her overcoat and headed for the stairs. Three flights and a couple of calls from her mobile phone and she was ready for the journey.
During the drive Mr Leigh’s comments returned to her and brought with them a surge of anger. She was receiving an impromptu performance review based on her activities over the last five days. She’d been seated at her desk every morning by six thirty to make sure the contract didn’t suffer due to her hospital visits.
She’d juggled make-up artists with glamour models, shoot locations, packaging problems and media coverage, not to mention budgets and team management. She’d worked twelve-hour days and still taken work back to the hotel to fill the short hours between the end of visiting time and falling into bed exhausted. The phrase ‘Be careful what you wish for’ floated through her mind but she pushed it away as she parked the car and bought a ticket.
‘Any change?’ Catherin
e asked Linda, the ward sister, as she passed the nurses’ station.
Linda smiled but shook her head.
Catherine hadn’t really expected anything different but it was beginning to worry her. The doctor had said that the longer Alex refused to speak the further into her own world she was retreating. And the harder it would be to get her back.
‘Hi Alex,’ Catherine said, with forced cheer. She didn’t expect any answer and wasn’t disappointed when none came. ‘The weather’s taken a turn for the worse. There’s a cold snap coming, apparently.’
Catherine placed the magazines she’d brought on top of the ones she’d brought the previous day. A whole stack of them remained untouched, as did the fruit that was overflowing from the basket. Only the flowers still looked in reasonable shape. The swelling had reduced considerably since that first night, but Alex’s skin still bore the colours of a sunset.
Catherine began to weed out the old fruit and dropped it into the bag beside Alex’s bed. She kept her back to her sister, not wishing for Alex to see the concern that shaped her features.
On day three Alex had opened her eyes. They hadn’t looked around the room or made contact with anybody. She hadn’t registered any activity or presence. She had simply stared straight ahead.
Doctor Thurlow had been waiting for Catherine at the end of her visit the previous evening. He had explained that physically Alex was healing well and that they had to now consider discharging her. But, to where, was the problem. The psychiatrists who met with Alex had both proposed she be transferred to a local institution for further evaluation. Doctor Thurlow had placed his hand gently on Catherine’s arm and told her that as the next of kin she would have to consider committing her sister for her own good.
Come back to me, Alex, Catherine pleaded silently. How could she give the order for Alex to be thrown into a place like that? Hadn’t she suffered enough? But what if the doctor was right? What if Alex would benefit from specialist attention?
Catherine wanted to do what was right for Alex but she didn’t know what was for the best. ‘These plums are growing jackets,’ she said, lamely, just to fill the room.
Dear Mother: A gripping and emotional story that will make you sob your heart out Page 13
