by Jean Levy
‘Do you think the laughter stems from a particular incident?’
‘I don’t know, Sam. I’m scared to analyse it in case I invite it in. I think it’s to do with my mother and sister ridiculing me. Or perhaps just me believing they were ridiculing me.’ I turned the page to reveal photos of college. ‘Annabelle, it’s you with long hair.’
Annabelle hurried to kneel at my feet. ‘You used to trim it for me, remember?’
I shook my head. More pages turned. Holiday snaps. Hot beaches, Annabelle beside me on a rocky outcrop. Surrounded by blue sky. People I didn’t recognise. Then flowers, tables set for some kind of grand function, and the first appearance of Jeff Blake. We looked happy in the photographs taken together, especially on our wedding day. How could things have gone so badly wrong? I studied the faces. I could barely recognise my own features let alone anyone else’s. I touched Annabelle’s shoulder. ‘Weren’t you there?’
‘I was taking the photos, so I didn’t get to be in them. Usually you did the photography but obviously that day you were being the bride.’
‘I took photos at weddings? And I did the flowers?’
‘Yes, until about three years ago, when your books really took off. Then Jeff brought Alex into the company.’ She pointed to a group photo, to a pale young woman standing to one side, slightly out of focus. ‘That’s Arachne.’
I lifted the folder closer. ‘Are you sure?’ I nudged it towards Matthew: ‘Do you think that’s Arachne?’ He nodded and I felt an awful wave of regret ripple through me. About a sister I no longer had. I scanned the other photos. ‘Where’s my mother?’
‘She was in hospital recovering after a minor stroke,’ said Sam. ‘Two weeks earlier. The next page has photos taken at your mother’s sixtieth birthday party.’
I turned the page and tried to make out various people in the crowd: Annabelle, a person I assumed was Jeff Blake. I wasn’t absolutely certain. I picked up a white folder, embossed, the kind of folder that usually holds a print of a wedding. I went to open it, but Sam stopped my hand. ‘It was taken that evening: you, your sister and mother.’
‘Just the three of us?’ I whispered. I opened the folder, recognising myself smiling, radiant, just the way I had looked on the library wall at the agency. My sister was standing beside me. Her features clear, her skin pale, the curls in her long blonde hair styled away. Physically we had nothing in common. But what we did have in common was sitting in front of us. Our mother. We each had a hand on her shoulder; hers were lying in her lap, limp and bony, like the rest of her. She looked wasted. Her dress, smart as it was, seemed nothing more than a drape, politely concealing a naked skeleton; her eyes sunken into grey sockets, one half of her face falling away, sliding down under the influence of gravity so that the smile on one side was reversed on the other.
I looked at my hand on my mother’s shoulder, my left hand, touching the mother I could not remember. I looked at my mother’s head. Was it a stroke, some kind of paralysis, that was causing her to lean that way, or was she deliberately leaning away from my touch, leaning towards her younger daughter. After all these years, did Diana Dawson still blame me for the loss of her drunken husband? And Arachne, my sister, her pale blue eyes were not really directed towards the camera, but rather down at the head leaning towards her, smiling at that thin, lifeless hair. A shared resentment binding them.
I fought hard not to hear the laughter that was rising out of that joint portrait of a mother, her daughter and the person they both blamed. I tried to hold the image in my head, but the more I concentrated, the louder the noises became, until all I could hear was the shrieks of the gulls circling overhead, screaming for me to let go before the memory could be made, before the image could be tagged, processed, stored for future reference, because that subconscious thing that claimed ownership of my thoughts was tearing that image from me. Denying me the right to remember. I had to let go.
Sam pulled the photograph away.
‘What’s happening?’ said Annabelle.
‘Is it the noises,’ Poppy whispered.
I forced myself to recover. Pointed to the folder. ‘Show me again, Sam.’
‘Are you sure? Can you recall where we got to?’
‘My mother’s party, then that photo.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember.’
‘Can you really not remember?’ said Annabelle.
I felt Poppy’s hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry if this is upsetting you both. You don’t have to stay. Really.’
‘God, Sarah,’ exclaimed Annabelle. ‘What kind of friend do you think I am? You’ve spent whole nights with me while I puked into the toilet. The least I can do is be with you while you lose your mind.’
‘Annabelle!’ snapped Matthew. ‘Sarah is not losing her mind.’
I touched Annabelle’s shoulder. ‘We must have had great times.’
‘Too right, and you need to remember them!’
‘And you need to remember all our lunches,’ said Poppy, ‘with me trying to edit your manuscripts and you refusing to change anything including the wrong spellings.’
I longed to share those memories. ‘Sam, please show me the photo.’
Sam handed over the folder. I studied it. The noises began. I closed my eyes and let them fade, looked again. And again.
‘It’s my mother. Every time I look, the face has nothing in it. And then I start to see a drooping mouth and the noise becomes so loud I have to close my eyes. And when I open them it’s an empty face again.’
‘The same every time?’ asked Sam.
‘I think each time I can see a little more.’
‘During the MRI scans, you were shown images of your mother from way back into your childhood. But you never recognised them. It might be that your mother is the core of your anxieties, your original reason to forget.’
Matthew cleared his throat. ‘Have you spoken to her lately, Sam?’
What? I looked at Sam and waited for an explanation.
He took the folder and put it on the coffee table. ‘Diana’s been at Greystone Park since the beginning of March. Bob had her transferred there.’
I stared at him in disbelief. ‘She was there? When I was there? When were any of you thinking of telling me that?’
‘Bob wasn’t sure you were ready.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All these people still deciding what I was ready to know. Knowing things about my life and calculating when they might deign to inform me, Sarah Blake, whose actual life it was. I stood up and strode over to my desk.
‘You let me roam around in that bloody clinic and all the while my own mother was there and you never told me because you’d decided I wasn’t ready? Well, I’d like to announce that I’m completely pissed off with all of you! I’m sick of being drip-fed snippets about my life so I’m going to stand here and wait and you’re all going to tell me everything you know and if it means I wake up tomorrow like a brainless jelly then so be it!’
‘I don’t know anything,’ said Poppy. ‘I’m just here to be with you.’
‘Thank you, Poppy. Annabelle?’
‘I’m also here to be with you. But I feel guilty about not telling you about Jeff.’
‘For God’s sake! What didn’t you tell me about Jeff?’
Annabelle picked up Sam’s glass and gulped down a large mouthful of his wine. ‘It was last November. I’d been staying at the Royal Crescent in Bath with this guy I was doing some work for. I was waiting while he checked out. Suddenly Jeff came walking into reception. I got ready to say hello, but then your sister came trotting in behind him. Bold as brass. I don’t think they saw me. But I never told you and I’ve been worrying that if I had you might not have gone to your mother’s house that day and …’
‘Did Matthew say that’s what happened?’
‘No. I’m just worried that … Sarah, I’m sorry I never told you. I should have confronted that cheating bastard then and there, but I was with a client … I’m so sorry.’
‘And I’m sorry I never told you about Jeff and Arachne,’ said Matthew. ‘And about my confrontation with Jeff. Sarah, come and sit down. Please.’
‘I’m staying here.’ I folded my arms. ‘And I’m waiting.’ The silence was marked. ‘So there is something else, is there?’ I pulled the chair out from under my desk and sat down, facing them. Whatever this something else was, it was clearly something they all knew. Part of their conspiracy of silence. I saw Sam glance at Matthew. Watched Matthew give his silent consent. Sam walked over to stand beside me:
‘There is something else and it’s likely to upset you. But you need to know.’
Islington
‘Matthew?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m on the train coming back. Is something wrong?’
‘When will you get here?’
‘I don’t know. I’m about an hour away from Euston. Has something happened?’
‘I need to speak to you.’
‘About what? Sarah, what’s wrong?’
‘Matthew, I’m pregnant. I went to see the doctor this morning and … I’m pregnant. And I don’t know what to do … Matthew are you still there? Matthew?’
‘Yes, of course I’m still here. But the signal’s useless and I’ve got hardly any battery left. Sarah, did you just say you’re pregnant?’
‘Yes. I can’t stay here. Jeff will go mad if he finds out.’
‘Did you forget to take your pill or something?’
‘No. Matthew, can I come and stay in your flat with you?’
‘Of course you can. I’ve been asking you to do exactly that ever since I moved there.’
‘But what about me being pregnant?’
‘I’ll get a bigger bed.’
‘Matthew, be serious! I don’t know who the father is.’
‘It doesn’t matter who the father is. Look, I’ll come straight to your flat as soon as I get back. Wait for me there. Then we’ll sort out what to do.’
‘I’ve packed some things. I’ll leave a note for when Jeff gets back from Nottingham. And I’d better go over and tell Arachne that I’m moving in with you so she’ll know where I am if anything happens to Diana.’
‘What? No, wait, Sarah, don’t do that! Wait until I get back … Shit, I think my phone’s about to die. Sarah, I’ll get to you by about six. Sarah, do NOT go over to Hornsey until I can go with you, OK? … Sarah? Sarah, are you there?’
Episode Fifty-one
‘Miscarriage?’
‘You must have been lying there for some time, possibly since the early hours of the morning. Fortunately you’d avoided being covered by the tide but, nevertheless, you were suffering from exposure and significant blood loss. There were concerns that your coma was due to brain damage following hypovolemic shock. Following haemorrhage. Initial scans suggested that was not the case but, when they discovered your severe memory loss, concerns were reawakened.’
I looked at Matthew. ‘I was pregnant? Did you know?’
‘You told me when you phoned that afternoon. The doctor had confirmed it that morning. I wouldn’t have gone away but I never knew you suspected it.’
‘Whose baby was it?’
‘You said you didn’t know.’
Sam touched my arm. It was a very practiced touch. Do they teach doctors how to do that as part of their training? I’m sorry there’s no hope. Best put your things in order. Would you like to speak to the hospital chaplain? Would you like me to tell your husband, wife, son, daughter? I pulled my arm away. Sam tried a different approach.
‘Sarah, it’s not clear at what point over those two days you started to miscarry, or whether it was due to anything that may have happened to you. There was a lot of bruising and your arm was broken. There didn’t seem to be any permanent damage. And there’s a chance it might have been a doomed pregnancy from the start. There’s no way of knowing, unless you can tell us what happened.’
All at once I needed to be alone. But people were touching me, saying words that were meaningless, all their sense corrupted by the sounds in my own mind gnawing away inside my head, determined that I must never remember. I needed to get as far away as possible from the people and the words. Then further away even than that.
‘Sarah, what are you doing? Poppy, hold the door!’
‘I’ve got something in my bag.’
‘Sarah, love, you can’t go outside!’
‘Sarah, it’s Annabelle. It’s OK. God, what’s happening to her eyes?’
‘Nystagmus.’
‘What?’
‘This will calm her down. Hold her still …’
‘No!’ My voice rang clear above the chaos. ‘I don’t need it!’
‘It’s just a mild sedative, Sarah.’
‘I don’t need it, Sam! Please, you’re both hurting me.’
I felt Annabelle and Matthew slacken their hold.
‘Please, something inside my head told me to run away. But I’m not going to.’
I felt Annabelle let go of my arm, Matthew’s arm close around me. He walked me over to the sofa and sat down beside me. Asked Annabelle to fetch more wine. I was trembling.
Sam resumed his previous position. ‘Well done, Sarah. How did you snap out of it like that?’
‘I suddenly saw myself. I mean I really saw myself. From about where I am now. With you all trying to stop me running outside. It was like time had split into two and, in the time I was in, I could see myself, with my arms flailing around. And I thought how useless it was, behaving like that. With you all trying to help and me hitting out at you. I could actually see myself doing that. So I made myself stop and then I was over there in the different time and you were holding me.’
‘That happened to me once, after a tab.’ Annabelle was standing behind the sofa, clutching a bottle of Australian chardonnay.
‘It sounds like depersonalisation.’ He glanced up at Annabelle. ‘Sarah, you’re trembling. You ought to let me give you something. Just a pill.’
‘I don’t want pills. I want to remember.’
‘Do you think you remembered something then?’
‘I don’t think so. It was just that you said I was pregnant and I didn’t know who the father was and I remember thinking if it was Matthew’s baby, then I wanted it back and if it was Jeff’s then it was gone and he was gone and I didn’t want either of them back. But how can you feel those two completely different things about the same baby and how can you feel that about a baby anyway? And then I thought perhaps it would have been better if I’d been a doomed pregnancy. All those thoughts flooded into my head at the same time as the laughing and the waves. I just wanted to run away.’ I could feel tears running down my face. Matthew’s arm around me trying to steady me. Poppy was still barricading my exit. ‘I’m so sorry, Poppy.’
Poppy edged away from the door. ‘Darling,’ he said, ‘no need to apologise. I haven’t had so much fun for years! But you should let Sam give you his pills, sweetie.’
‘They really will help, Sarah,’ said Sam. ‘If you carry on shaking like this you’ll make yourself sick.’
‘Will they put me to sleep?’
‘No. They’ll just calm you down. ‘But Sarah … Bob suggested you take your evening medication tonight. He said it would be all right to take it with the sedative.’
Take them, Sarah,’ whispered Matthew. So I took the pills.
And slowly things around me became calm and my hands became still. Then the weird tiredness came. I fought against it, scared to sleep, scared about what I might remember, what I might forget. I listened to their conversation without really paying attention to what they were saying. Then I heard Sam say, ‘Sarah needs to sleep.’
I felt a wave of panic, not a running-out-the-door panic but rather a scared-to-let-go panic. I forced myself to speak.
‘Sam, what if my mind is determined that I can’t know these things you’ve told me?’ The words might have been coming out slurred. ‘What if
every time I get too close to remembering that day my subconscious erases another whole slice of my mind? Perhaps this time it will erase everything I’ve ever known.’
‘But I thought your subconscious was your mind,’ interrupted Annabelle.
‘It is,’ said Sam. ‘And Sarah, that hasn’t been the nature of the repression. So far you’ve forgotten specific information but your early memories have remained intact. I …’
‘Sarah, what are you doing?’ said Matthew, catching hold of me as I tried to stand.
‘I want to look in the big mirror.’ I pulled myself upright and started to stagger towards my bedroom, with Matthew half helping, half trying to get me to return to the sofa. The others followed. They watched me pull open my wardrobe door, watched me watching my reflection looking back at me. ‘Where is it, Sam?’ I said.
