What Was Lost

by Jean Levy

  ‘Where’s what?’

  I peered deep into my own eyes. ‘My subconscious.’ Now my speech was definitely slurred. ‘I presume it’s in my head. I mean, if you cut off my arms and legs, it’s still there isn’t it?’ I poked my reflected forehead and staggered backwards. ‘Stuffed in with all my memories, and dreams. And the stories I haven’t written. Where is it, Sam?’

  ‘Well, it isn’t actually anywhere. It’s just a concept, a term. More of a lay term really. Freud didn’t … It’s actually your unconscious mind, and that’s everything that goes on in your mind that you’re not consciously aware of. But, ultimately, it’s just chemical pathways and transmitted messages in different tissues in your brain. I admit it’s poorly defined …’

  ‘So this … poorly defined concept … this part of my mind, which isn’t anywhere, is doing this to me and nobody knows how?’ Over my reflected shoulder I could see Sam frowning. ‘Just pathways inside my brain. And all my memories just a bag of chemicals.’ I swayed closer to my reflection. ‘Sam, my pupils are holes into my head, aren’t they?’

  ‘What? No, they’re holes that let light fall onto … Why? What are you thinking of?’

  I felt Matthew grab my arm. I pulled away from him and caught hold of the wardrobe door to prevent myself falling inside. ‘I’m getting as close to my non-existent subconscious as I can. So I can tell it to fuck off and leave me alone.’

  And that’s what I did. Then I let everyone escort me back to the sofa and make me a mug of hot chocolate.

  *

  It’s strange the things you remember. And right now I can clearly remember sitting there, at the end of that strange evening, half awake and dunking chocolate digestives into milky hot chocolate, thinking of Mrs Parkin who, among other things, had disapproved of dunking. Somehow that simple indulgence made me believe that everything was going to resolve. Or perhaps it was just the combination of the sedative and my evening medication that was making me believe that.

  I watched Sam packing his Sarah Blake folder back into his bag. ‘I’m really grateful to you all. But … I’d better go to sleep now,’ I said.

  ‘If you like, I’ll stay over and doze on the sofa,’ said Sam. ‘I’m not back in the office until Monday.’

  ‘I’ll make breakfast,’ said Poppy.

  ‘I’ll help,’ said Annabelle. ‘It’s too late to go home now.’

  ‘It’s only eleven-thirty,’ protested Matthew. ‘And where will you all sleep?’

  We left them in the lounge negotiating blankets. Matthew manoeuvred me to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m scared. In case everything’s gone by the morning.’

  ‘We’ll tell you it all again.’

  ‘No. I mean everything. Right back to that …that tiny baby in the crib. Knowing nothing. With all this waiting to happen.’

  He sat down beside me. ‘Come on, love. Sam said that wouldn’t happen. And we really have told you as much as we know, and you’ve been able to hold on to it.’

  ‘Yes … I know the things you’ve told me. But I don’t remember them … being real. And there are other things that nobody can tell me. Because nobody knows them. My private thoughts. I can’t remember those things either. Even if I didn’t do anything wrong. Perhaps … Perhaps I wanted them to die. And my mind is protecting me from the shame. Perhaps that’s the choice. An empty head, or a life … a lifetime of guilt or shame.’

  ‘Come on, let’s stop worrying about all that now. You’re falling asleep.’

  I sagged forward and allowed him to undress me but as he eased my jumper over my head, my eyes fell upon the flat of my abdomen. I imagined it once nurturing a tiny doomed existence. Through all the haze, I could almost recapture a memory of this small other, living inside me, utterly dependent upon me.

  ‘Matthew, I’m sad. About the baby. Not knowing whose father … who the father was. Would you still want me?’

  ‘It was your baby. And, Sarah, listen to me. I’ll always want you.’

  *

  Sleep came soon. Deep and empty and without time. Then the emptiness came to an end and time started. I was awake but my eyes were still closed. I tried to open them but I had no control over my eyelids. I tried to lift my hand, my arm. But I had no control over them either. Then came the smells. Smells from before. Jasmine. Ginger. Roses and violets. A sour apple stolen from Farmer Joe’s orchard. The smell of the sea in summer. The oldness of shale split open. A creature long gone, exposed to the air after millions of years of containment. The cold odourless smell of leaving and absence and nobody caring. My smells. Being taken from me. One by one.

  What was this? Had I died? Was I breathing? I tried to sit up. But my arms and legs and back and front had forgotten how to do that. Then came the sounds: the soft hum of the lights, the distant laughter of a child. Please, not that child. Not that child. I could feel my body start to vibrate. I could feel myself becoming higher, suspended, then falling, upright, feet first, with no hope of saving myself. I had to make it stop.

  Stop!

  Was that my voice? Where did it come from? Not out of me, surely. If only I could open my eyes. I needed to see. But I listened instead. Listened to the laughter. Louder now. Closer. Then came the mist. My eyes were still closed but I could see it. Grey mist painted on the inside of my eyelids. But impossibly far away. I watched. And as I watched, the grey mist moved closer and things emerged from its depths. And all I could do was witness them appear one by one, then sparkle and disappear like fireworks in a cloudy sky. First my Raggedy doll. Then Rackham’s fairies, clawing and scratching each other; my books, their spines bent backwards, their pages sucked into the swirling mist. Then came the people. Their faces were empty. But I knew who they were: Grandma Clark, Jeff Blake, Arachne, Sam, Poppy, Annabelle. Matthew. Sparkling out of existence one at a time. My people and my things being taken from me. Soon there would be nothing left of me.

  Now it was almost upon me. Dense, cold, shapeless. This mind within my mind was finally making itself known to me. My strength was draining away, my chest collapsing, caving inwards as this grey otherness closed in on me, stealing my past, my present, my future. If I failed to act now I would be over and done with. A husk. A remnant. But I was so very tired of fighting it. It would be so much easier just to let this miserable, doomed life be over.

  ‘Sarah, wake up. It’s just a dream.’

  I opened my eyes. But nothing changed. The greyness was all over me, crushing me. And all the while, the laughter, coming from deep inside this thing that, without ever seeking my sanction, was claiming ownership of my thoughts. I needed to run away. But now the waves were sucking the sand from under me, pulling me down, filling my throat with sea water instead of air. And I was too exhausted to care. Too exhausted to …

  ‘Look, here comes Grandma with our ice creams.’

  ‘I’ll give you half this apple if you read my book because … Your eyes are a very strange colour, aren’t they?’

  Too exhausted to …

  ‘It’s about a place called Raggedy Lyme where there’s wasted time.’

  Too exhausted … Wasted time?

  My time? Wasted? My time. Taken from me. Lost. I want it back.

  I search for the words that I need. So many words to choose from and it’s taking me too much time to find them. I need to … but now the laughter is gnawing, consuming me …

  Stop!

  Was that my voice? Yes, it was.

  Silence. I stare deep into the grey mist and I fight it. I begin to see a starlit sky rising high above the dark outline of a chateau in Burgundy. I smell the fresh night air and the promise of a new beginning. Taste a kiss so much more real than imagining can ever be. Time, if there is time, comes to a halt. And in that no-time, my thoughts crystallise and become my own. My life becomes my own. And I know that whatever might happen in it, however bad these things might be, they all happen to me. And it’s my right to remember them. I will not let some ill-defined bag of
chemicals carry on stealing my life from me. Because whatever this mind within my mind might be, the one thing it has failed to realise is that if I end then it ends too. Because without me it is nothing.

  Silence. The grey mist thinned and receded. The air around me became clear and sweet. And bitter with the things I knew I had to remember.

  *

  I woke alone. As my eyes opened, they focussed upon a strange, stylish couple, draped in gold. He was kissing her, almost crushing her. Her toes were curled in ecstasy, her eyes closed, one of her arms was around his neck, preventing his leaving. I turned away from them, stepped out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown. I glanced out through the half-open curtains at the backyard, at the fence that concealed much of the sky. But I could see that the sky was blue and that summer was here at last. I opened my bedroom door and stepped into the cramped dining area, heard someone moving around in the kitchen, checked the belt of my dressing gown and went to investigate.

  *

  Matthew looked up.

  ‘Sarah!We let you sleep. You had a bad night. Your pulse was all over the place. Sam was worried it was a reaction to the drugs. Are you OK?’ The back door burst open and Annabelle, Sam and Poppy hurried inside and came to a silent halt alongside one another; a thick aroma of putrefying herbs followed them in. They watched me and waited. Matthew came towards me.

  ‘Sarah?’

  I looked straight into his pale eyes. ‘It was a Red Delicious.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The apple I put on your desk.’ I pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘It was a Red Delicious. From Borough Market. I went there that morning. Specially.’

  Sam hurried over to stand beside me, lifted my hand and felt my wrist. ‘Is this something that happened?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Is that all you’ve remembered, Sarah?’

  ‘No, I’ve remembered everything.’ I took a deep breath. ‘But it’s not the same. I can see myself almost as somebody else. Someone I’ve just met but I know her whole life because I’ve seen it not lived it. I can remember what she did and thought. Way back. And I can understand why she did things and why she thought things but as if I was sharing the thoughts with the person who was having them. I can remember not remembering and being told things one at a time. My things. And I can remember that day. Seeing inside my mind but not being inside my mind. Like an observer. And it’s terrible. Annabelle, Poppy, you might not want to hear this.’

  We relocated to the lounge. I drank a mouthful of tea. Then another. I felt strangely calm.

  ‘I went to my mother’s house, like I said I would. I parked in the next street. I was only going inside for a few minutes so I left all my things in the car. I went round the back, in case Diana came to the door and escaped into the street. The back door was unlocked …’

  Hornsey

  The kitchen’s a mess.

  ‘Hello, is anybody there? It’s Sarah. Mum, are you there?’ I’m walking through into the hallway, picking one of Diana’s slippers off the filthy, wooden floor, carrying it into the lounge. The television is on but there’s no sound. I carry the slipper back into the hall. Check the dining room. The table’s covered in dirty plates and saucepans, opened cans, spoons congealed in half-eaten food, empty bottles, mostly gin. A loaf of bread has spilled a few curled, grey slices onto the floor.

  I look down at the slipper in my hand: where is she? What if she’s gone walking and Arachne’s out looking for her? She should have phoned me. No, don’t panic. Arachne would have phoned me. Arachne’s probably slipped out to get something and forgotten to check the back door before leaving. Mum’s probably upstairs asleep. I’ll phone Arachne.

  I’m feeling in my pocket for my mobile. Damn, I left it in the car. I’ll check upstairs before I start worrying. I hurry upstairs. The exertion excites a wave of nausea. I pause on the landing to catch my breath. Diana’s room is straight ahead of me. The door is ajar. Another wave of nausea this time accompanied by panic. I rush in. Diana is slumped on her bed, breathing, asleep in her clothes. She sleeps a lot lately. I think Arachne has been feeding her pills, more than she needs. I touch her arm to wake her but she doesn’t stir.

  ‘Mum?’

  I can hear noises coming from the next room. Arachne’s room.

  I leave Diana sleeping and walk along the corridor to investigate. Arachne’s door is closed. I step inside without knocking. Arachne and Jeff are in bed … Well, they’re on the bed. She’s on top of him. Across him. He’s supposed to be in Nottingham. But he’s not. He’s here, underneath Arachne. She’s naked. Apart from my jacket. She’s wearing my red leather jacket, the one I bought for the winter launch. Matthew helped me choose it. Jeff is gripping its matt sleeves, pulling her down onto him. I’m standing at the bottom of the bed, holding a slipper. Looking at them. They’re covered in sweat. Arachne’s arse looks huge spread out across my husband like that. She’s turning her head. She’s seen me. Her face is smeared with lipstick, bright red, all across her cheek and her chin. I can see Jeff’s face beyond her thigh. Looking back at me. He pushes Arachne off and tries to pull the sheet over himself but she pulls it away so I can see. Her lipstick is all over … all over … She looks at me and laughs. Like a mad person. Ridiculing me. The same laughter I used to hear when I was in my room crying over my memories of my granny. And my father going away. And about my mother not wanting me. The laughter is making me queasy. I want to lie down.

  But Arachne is coming towards me. Laughing. Throwing her head backwards and forwards. She looks insane. She’s shouting at me.

  ‘Why are you here? Why don’t you fuck off! Jeff can’t bear you because you’re boring and frigid.’

  I need to leave, but now Jeff’s getting off the bed. He shouts my name: ‘Sarah!’

  He grabs his underpants and holds them over his dick. I can still see the red smears either side. Arachne is still screaming for me to get out. I’m backing towards the door but now something is in the way, stopping me from going any further. It’s my mother. My sister yells at Diana to get out. I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave my mother exposed to this. I have to stop it happening. I think I’m crying. Yes, I’m crying.

  ‘Arachne, let me phone and get Mum taken somewhere. Until things settle down. Just let me make that call. I’ll wait downstairs with her and then I’ll go, and you don’t ever have to see me again.’

  But they’re pointing at me. Shouting at me. Arachne is accusing me of spying on her. Jeff says he knows my slut friend told me she saw them together but it wouldn’t make any difference because I’ll get nothing. Because of me and Matthew. I don’t know what he’s talking about and I don’t want this to be happening in front of my mother so I put my arm around her and lead her out on to the landing.

  Now Arachne is clutching at the doorframe, yelling at me. ‘You won’t get any of her money. It’s all mine. She never wanted you. You’re just a waste of time!’

  Diana is mumbling to herself, pulling her slipper away from me. I need to get her away, to calm everything down.

  ‘Arachne, I don’t want anyone’s money, it’s all yours, and as soon as I’m sure Mum is safe, I’m leaving. I’m going to be with Matthew.’

  Suddenly Jeff is crazy. He pushes past Arachne and stands right in front of me, still holding his underpants, calling me a whore. Diana is shouting senseless words, smacking the slipper against his shoulder. Jeff throws his pants on the floor, snatches the slipper from Diana’s grasp and throws it at the wall. He’s grabbed hold of my arm, he’s pulling me away from Diana. She has to catch hold of the banister to stop herself falling over.

  ‘Jeff, I …’ He throws me hard against the wall. My arm cracks. A terrible pain shoots across my hips and all I can think of is the baby. I hear myself shout: ‘Please, Jeff, I’m pregnant!’

  He grabs my hair.

  ‘Jeff, I’m scared for the baby … your baby!’

  He sneers at me. ‘My baby? You stupid bitch!’ He slaps my face. ‘You’ve had no idea, have you
?’ He’s pulling me down onto the floor. ‘I had the snip way before I ever ran into you and your pathetic, bloody daydreams. So it’s all his!’

  And now he’s kicking me in the stomach and I know the baby is going to die. Matthew’s baby’s going to die. And I’m so very sorry I’ve let them both down, like I’ve let everyone down. The kicking’s stopped and I’m rolling over onto my back and looking up at him. He’s getting ready to kick me again. But suddenly a slipper bounces off the side of his head. Diana is looming behind him, with her bony arms and her hands, grabbing him, pulling him back. And she’s yelling … this time proper words. Words I can understand.

  ‘Don’t you hurt my Sarah! Don’t you touch her!’

  Her yellow fingers are digging into his bare flesh, pulling him away from me. He turns to push her away. Grabs her shoulder. I don’t want him to hurt her. Please don’t hurt her. He’s heavy but she has managed to swing herself round. She wails like an animal. I try to get up, to protect her, but I don’t need to. She’s pushed him. He’s lost his footing. He’s stumbling backwards, grabbing the air, scrabbling to save himself. He’s snatching at the stair rail. His fingers grip it, but his hand is slippery with sweat and slime. He’s losing his hold. He’s falling. Something, his leg, I think, hits the edge of a stair and I hear a bone crack, clear above his yelling. He’s crashing down the whole of the staircase, slowly, one step at a time. Each impact echoes as his skeleton breaks. I’m holding my breath. I know I am. Then he hits the hall floor. And everything is quiet.