‘But if you let them cut me out, we won’t see each other anymore. Don’t you love me?’
The sound of his voice makes my heart move differently. The welcome feeling of relief tries to hug my body. This is what Doctor Rogers told me I have to resist, but it would be so much nicer to go back to living the lie.
‘Jenny? Please answer. You’re worrying me.’
‘How can I worry something that isn’t real?’ I wonder aloud.
‘You can’t, which proves I am real.’
‘So why can’t I see you then?’
‘Because you’re in a coma.’ he says, ‘I’m sat by your bedside waiting for you to wake up. Talking to me will help you wake up.’
A woman’s voice interrupts with a mocking laugh, ‘No it won’t, you liar!’
I open my eyes as my body tenses itself, ready for the verbal attacks. The room I am locked in is a stereotypically grim hospital room, but it has a large window which allows me to fill my time staring at the endless empty grey sky. The window is locked, but the daylight is free to enjoy. The couple’s arguing gets worse, so I ring my buzzer. Within a few minutes, a female health assistant cautiously opens my door and pokes her head in.
‘Morning Jenny, do you need something?’
They never ask, ‘How are you?’ because they’re not trained in how to deal with the responses they would get.
‘They’re back.’
‘Okay,’ she says, completely unfazed, ‘Well, Doctor Rogers is just up the corridor with another patient but as soon as he’s available I’ll ask him to see you. Breakfast is on its way too.’
She closes the door behind her but doesn’t lock it. That’s a good sign. It means the day has started and I’ll be with real three-dimensional people soon.
‘Why do you think ‘Ryan’ is still talking to you?’
I slump in my chair and sigh, ‘You know why as well as I do.’
‘Tell me again.’
‘It’s because I want him to be real, but it’s normal to want to live happily ever after!’
Doctor Rogers doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. His thoughtful, experienced face looks down at his notes. I imagine that, during his career working in mental health hospitals, he’s seen and heard things that would make most people quit. Therefore, I trust him and look forward to our daily counselling sessions.
‘Jenny, I’m going to try hypnosis again.’
‘But it’s so emotionally draining.’
‘I know, but it helped you last time so I think we should try it again.’
Reluctantly, I lie down on my bed as Doctor Rogers hypnotises me.
My whole body is buzzing with passion, happiness and hope. These are feelings I never expected to experience. Whenever my friends talked about falling in love I assumed they were delusional, but now, for the first time, I’m experiencing it for myself. However, my childhood taught me not to expect unconditional love from another person, so I’m worried that my emotions are betraying me. That’s why, on top of my happiness, dread sometimes creeps in, like a heavy weight pressing on my stomach. This disappears when I look at Ryan. He obviously loves me in return, otherwise, why would we be engaged? As I daydream, he notices me staring at him.
‘What are you thinking?’
I blush, ‘How lucky I am. If we hadn’t have met that night, I would’ve missed out on so much.’
He hugs me as if I’m being stupid and then turns back to the TV. As I fall asleep against his warm body, I think about how lonely I was before we met, and how Ryan has changed my life for the better.
When I wake up, something immediately feels wrong. I’m not able to open my eyes straightaway because I’m being blinded with florescent light, but I can sense Ryan’s absence. When my eyes adjust, I look around and gasp. I’m lying alone in a single, metal-based bed in a pale green room. My breathing becomes fast and shallow as I gather the nerve to run to the door. It’s locked. There is a small window in the door that reveals a corridor full of similar doors, all presumably locked. I turn back to face my prison. Am I dreaming? I notice a CCTV camera in the corner of the ceiling and within minutes someone is unlocking my door. I jump back onto the bed, afraid of what is about to happen. A male and female enter.
‘Miss Hughes, you’re awake. How are you feeling?’ Noticing the look on my face the man adds, ‘Please don’t panic, we’re here to help. You’re not in any danger.’
I start with the obvious questions, ‘Who are you, where am I, and where is my fiancé?’
They quickly exchange looks before the man answers, ‘I’m Doctor Rogers and this is Sheila, your nurse. You’re in Arnold Hospital, which looks after people experiencing mental health difficulties. You’ve been here for three weeks now, since suffering a breakdown. Do you remember that?’
‘No.’
‘You were assessed to be a risk to yourself so we admitted you to help your recovery. Erm, regarding your fiancé, I’m sorry but I was unaware you had one.’ He checks his notes.
As I listen, I don’t really believe a word he says. I assume I’m dreaming and that Ryan and I will laugh about this in the morning. But when the Doctor says he doesn’t know Ryan, the feeling of dread returns, like an invisible train crashing into my body. Subconsciously, I had always expected to lose Ryan; maybe my mind was trying to break it to me gently that it was tricking me. I feel dizzy; the worst has happened and my body is pumping more adrenaline than I can cope with.
‘Now Jenny, when people experience a breakdown, their mind can deploy defence mechanisms to help the body cope. Can you tell me more about your fiancé so that we can look into,’ he just manages to stop himself from saying, ‘whether or not he exists.’
I glare at him with pure hatred. How can Ryan not exist? He’s been my saviour and best friend for four years.
‘We’re getting married in December!’ I burst into tearful convulsions as I acknowledge what I already suspected; Ryan was too good to be true.
I must have passed out or been sedated because when I wake again, I’m told by the nurse that it’s the next day. Dr Rogers is in the room making notes. He smiles at me, ‘How are you feeling today?’
I’m too thirsty to talk so I sip the warm water from the cabinet next to my bed.
‘Jenny, how long do you think you knew your fiancé for?’
‘Four years.’
He looks surprised as he writes it down, ‘Okay, this is what I think has happened.’ He takes a long pause and sits down, ‘It’s not unreasonable to suspect that your mind has created a ‘better place’ while you were being treated by us. The medicine you have been on for the last three weeks is heavily sedative and side effects can include delusion and hallucinations,’ he stops to check my reaction. ‘Jenny, the last four years that you think you have experienced were your mind’s way of keeping you alive. We don’t know what caused your breakdown, as we still don’t know a great deal about you. Your colleagues took you to Casualty because you tried to hurt yourself at work. They weren’t able to tell the staff there much about you other than they know that you live alone. They call us every day to check on your progress. Is there anyone else we can contact for you to let them know where you are?’
I open my mouth and then close it immediately. I blush and feel stupid; I have just stopped myself from saying Ryan’s name. It’s going to be difficult to remember that he’s no longer part of my life and perhaps never was. Every time I wake up, in that split second I will hope to see him next to me, but then I’ll remember that he doesn’t exist.
‘No.’ Tears spill from my eyes, ‘I don’t know how to live without him. It’s still all so real to me.’
Doctor Rogers puts a hand on my shoulder, ‘You have to mourn him as you would’ve done if he had really existed and died.’
I very quickly wake up from my hypnotic sleep. My mouth is full of salty tears.
‘Jenny, I think that, with the help of the right medication, its time you went back to your life,’ says Doctor Rogers.
> I’m flabbergasted, ‘But how? What if the voices come back?’
‘Well, based on my experience with other patients, I would expect you to get better, quicker, at home. Especially now you’re experiencing fewer hallucinations. I’m hopeful that the existence of Ryan was caused by the strong sedative drugs we gave you for the first two weeks. I don’t think he was a result of your breakdown. Please don’t worry Jenny; I wouldn’t release you if I didn’t think you could cope.’
Three days later, as I put my key into my lock for the first time in seven weeks, I can sense a presence in my flat. At first I assume I’ve been burgled, but then his smell envelopes me and puts my body at ease. I look into my living room. Ryan first smiles at me and then looks down at the knife in his hand.
‘I’ll help you wake up.
For I Have Sinned
‘I don’t know how you bear it, Father. How do you take on everyone else’s problems and darkest secrets? It would drive most people insane.’
I, of course, shouldn’t lie, so I avoid eye contact and draw her attention to the yellow butterfly flirting with the tall red tulips. Another one, white, soon appears and they dance around each other. I want nothing more than to go inside for my camera and try to capture this moment.
‘Yes they’re beautiful aren’t they? Anyway, I must be off. Thanks again for an inspiring sermon Father. Take care.’
I watch her walk away from me, navigating the headstones, tulips and butterflies. Jane is in her sixties and lives alone. Her husband is buried two feet away. The biggest sin she has ever confessed to was slapping her dog across its behind when he jumped up at her fresh laundry while it was hanging on the washing line. If only everyone was like Jane.
Meandering around my church, I stop and take a seat on the worn wooden bench, in the sunshine. This is the first really warm day this year so far and the sun feels comforting on my face. It’s a shame I can’t expose my arms and legs. My black outfit soon gets nice and warm. Now that everyone’s left, the only sounds are some unseen birds chattering, the buzzing of a big swarm of tiny flies huddled together and a distant car engine revving. Its days like this, coming out of a dark, damp winter, that lift my despair and renew my faith in everything and everyone. It does feel that the worst sins are always disclosed in winter.
I look around the gardens and spot a small ginger cat rubbing his face on one of the headstones. He looks like he’s a friendly one and it doesn’t take long for him to build up the courage to approach me, tail held perfectly straight, collar bell jingling. I lean down and ruffle his fir, which makes him purr. After a minute he spots the yellow butterfly and starts chasing after it. He misses it twice but catches it with his claws on the third strike. The butterfly struggles to get away while his white friend flutters around in panic above the cat. The cat eats his catch and then finds a sunny spot to sit in, right on top of a grave, as he licks his claws clean. The white butterfly hangs around for a while, wondering where his playmate is, but eventually he disappears off to the dying daffodils, friend forgotten.
The worse confession I took this winter was from Jane’s neighbour, Luke, who said he’s become addicted to the internet. It took him three visits to divulge what part of the internet he was frequenting. He said he thought I’d understand, what with me being a priest. I’m not supposed to take offence at anything because I’m not supposed to judge. But if I were that kind of person, what he said would have offended me greatly.
A slight breeze starts rustling through the willow tree above me, which makes a pale green caterpillar fall onto my hand. It curls up, trying not to be seen.
The funniest confession I had this winter was from a twelve year old girl called Libby who has a lisp. She was crying her eyes out as she told me her crime. Someone at home had obviously put the fear of God into this poor girl as she really thought she wasn’t going to make it to heaven. All because she stole her favourite book from the library. She said she booked it out but then never took it back. When the librarian phoned her mum, Libby told her that she couldn’t find it anywhere, knowing full well that it was stuffed between her mattress and the base of her bed. She told me that owning it was hard work and not worth the effort, as she wanted to enjoy it with her younger sister and let her mum read it to them both, but she couldn’t because she’d lied about having it. Her mum found it within two days, when she was changing the bed sheets, hence Libby’s confession. I used this for the children’s club lesson a week later by teaching the children the meaning of not being able to have your cake and eat it. Little six year old Maisy Sissons asked me why we couldn’t just buy enough cakes so that we could keep some and eat some, which made me and my volunteer chuckle. If only life was that easy.
This had been my fourteenth winter as a priest at this church, and it might need to be my last. I’m simply running out of room for everyone’s confessions. I look over at the young cat, who is now sleeping on his back with his belly exposed to the sun. There are no more butterflies for him to chase so he’s chosen sleep. His ginger fir looks like the colour of a warm sunset. He’s lying on the grave of Jane’s husband. There are forty-five graves in my garden and no room for anymore. They are filled with people I knew and people I didn’t. Three children, eight teenagers and twenty two pensioners, the rest being people in the prime of their life. I took confessions from just a handful of them. I sometimes wonder where they ended up, knowing what their secrets were. Just then the garden gate creaks open so I look towards it, waiting to see who will come up the winding path.
‘Morning Father! Or is it afternoon now?’
It’s Hannah, one of the primary school teachers. She never comes to church so I only know her from school charity events. Her auburn hair is glowing in the sun.
‘Hello Hannah,’ I look at my watch, ‘It’s still morning, just. Take a seat.’
She sits next to me but as far away on the seat as she can manage. She’s sweating a lot, more than today’s sunshine would warrant. Maybe she’s been for a long walk. We sit together for a couple of minutes while I wait for her to break the silence. The swarm of tiny flies buzz past us as the cat wakes up and approaches. He jumps on Hannah’s lap but she pushes him down immediately, which surprises me. I don’t know many people who can resist a friendly young cat. Pretending not to be scorned, he wanders off to find something else to do.
‘Do you have a minute Father?’
‘Yes of course. Would you like to go inside?’
She looks up at the church behind us and shakes her head.
‘No, here’s fine thanks.’
‘What can I help you with?’
She sighs deeply and wipes her face with a tissue from her pocket. She doesn’t look well and isn’t wearing any make up.
‘I’m afraid I don’t believe in God.’
I stay silent. I hear this a lot. She swipes the flies away from her as a breeze tries to push them towards us. Some of them get caught in a spider’s web under the stained glass window.
‘But I need to talk to someone and I’d rather it wasn’t a counsellor.’
I wonder why someone who doesn’t believe in God would choose a priest over a trained counsellor.
‘You can tell me anything, regardless of whether or not you believe in God.’
Her face and shoulders soften as if she’s letting go of whatever she’s wrestling with in her head. She finally turns to face me.
‘When I was fifteen, I killed my best friend. I persuaded everyone it was a terrible accident, but it wasn’t. I pushed her on purpose and she died slowly whilst I did nothing to help.’
It takes me a minute to process this and I struggle to know what to say. I have to look away from that antagonistic glare. I take the caterpillar off my hand and gently place it on one of the tulips next to me.
‘What did she do to you to make you want to kill her?’
She looks away from me now, towards the bee that is suckling from the magnolia tree.
‘She didn’t do anything. We were alike
in every single way. I don’t know why I did it; it was just a split second decision. We were just messing around, until a horrible menacing feeling came over me that made me want to take it further, to show her what I was capable of. Just to surprise her really. We were play fighting, pretending to push each other off a cliff in a quarry. My whole persona changed within seconds and I wanted to push her. So I did. Her head fell on some builder’s waste and was pierced by a long thick nail. I found out later it took her about thirty minutes to die. So if I’d have phoned for an ambulance, she might have been saved. But I thought she was dead so I didn’t. I sat with her while she died. I fell asleep watching the life drain out of her eyes. When I woke up my main focus was on saving myself.’
She turns back to face me, ‘I’ve never told anyone what really happened. I don’t know why I chose you, it just seemed easier.’
A cloud hovers in front of the sun and I feel my hair follicles stand up. Missing the heat or reacting to her story, I’m not sure which.
‘Do you see her when you close your eyes?’
‘No. I’ve managed to forget it for years. I was a child so I don’t feel I was accountable for my actions. Something came over me and I’ll never know whether that was some kind of demon, or a chemical overload that triggered my brain to think of pushing her.’
This wasn’t what I expected her to say.
‘So why did you feel the need to tell someone about it now?’
She looks like a different person; she’s not sweating anymore for starters. Clearly she thinks she’s now absolved of all blame.
‘I just wanted to get it off my chest properly so that now I never have to think about her and the blood leaking from the side of her head again. Isn’t that what you’re here for, to take away people’s ‘sins’ so that they can stop thinking about them?’
End of the Road: An anthology Page 3
