The Tightrope

by Hiba Basit

David rummages for the keys in his pocket and opens the front door. It’s early evening, which means Annette will still be at work. He hangs his coat up, slips off his trainers and walks upstairs. As he splashes his face with cold water, he feels better. After the stunted conversation with Adrian, he’s been feeling less focused at work and more distanced from Annette.

  Leaving his face slightly wet, he makes a beeline for the kitchen when he hears Annette’s voice coming from their bedroom. He retraces his steps but as he reaches for the door, he senses a tension in her voice that makes him stop. Then he hears his own name. Trying to breathe softly, he tries to catch her words, though he is not used to eavesdropping.

  ‘David’s fine,’ he hears her say. ‘He’s at work. We’re going out to dinner later so I should get ready. No, of course he doesn’t suspect anything.’

  Just like that, his chest tightens. He opens the door and walks in. Annette circles around. He tries to read her expression. There’s a moment of shock on her face but it vanishes as quickly as it appears, leaving her natural composure in its wake.

  ‘OK. I have to go. Bye!’ She sets the phone down and turns to him. ‘Hey, you’re back early!’ She smiles, moving forward and kissing him. ‘How was your day?’

  David finds that he can’t speak. He keeps quiet in the hope that Annette will explain what just happened.

  ‘I came home early to get ready. I was going to prepare something to take over to your parents. How does casserole sound?’ When he still doesn’t answer, she lets out a sigh. ‘I guess you overheard?’ He nods. She is about to say something but her phone starts to ring again. She abruptly picks it up. ‘Hi. Can I call you back?’ Tossing her phone onto the bed, she turns to him. ‘Can we talk about this later? I have so much to do before we leave.’ She flicks her hair back from her face and starts to walk past him to the bathroom.

  ‘Are you serious? I overhear you telling someone that I don’t suspect a thing and you want me to ask you later what that thing is?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It’s not a big deal. I don’t want to ruin our evening with your parents.’

  He stiffens. ‘I trust you, Annie. Even now, I’m not thinking anything bad. But if you leave me to dwell on it…’

  She lifts her palms to his cheeks and slides her head towards his. ‘It’s nothing like that. When you walked in, I was on the phone to Jordan. I have to go to New York again. He asked me if I had let you know. I said no, he doesn’t suspect anything.’

  Though the news could have been worse, it spikes a migraine in his head. ‘When do you have to go?’

  ‘The day before your birthday,’ she says. David remembers the last birthday she missed due to a conference in Italy. ‘I was going to tell you after today, but I didn’t want to drop it on you like a bombshell. Congratulations to me for making it work!’ She laughs nervously.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he says.

  ‘It’s just work,’ she tells him. Then, she starts to bite her lip, which he knows is a sign of guilt.

  ‘It’s fine! I’ll go out with the guys. We can celebrate my birthday when you get back.’

  ‘Do you have to be so understanding about everything? It makes me feel worse,’ she says, leaning into him.

  He laughs and unclips her hair for her. ‘You should go jump in the shower. You’re going to take ages getting ready.’

  Annette dismisses this with a snort, but she steps into the bathroom nevertheless.

  David reaches for his clothes when Annette’s pager bleeps. Next to it is her phone. Without thinking, he swiftly lifts it up and wipes the screen clean with his thumb. Then he presses the call register button. The only name she took a call from pops up; Jordan. He drops the phone back onto the bed and walks into the bathroom, already regretting his action. ‘I thought I’d join you,’ he grins.

  As they drown their bodies under the powerful gush of water, Annette’s phone begins to ring again. On the screen, a name unknown to David starts to flash, until the caller hangs up and it innocently reads ‘one missed call’.

  Chapter Eight

  Santana’s alarm clock rings in between fleeting pauses. She turns it off with a blind smack on its metal exterior. When it starts blaring a second time, she finally lifts the duvet off her face, revealing one of her almond-shaped eyes. Turning it off, she rises out of bed and circles her gaze sleepily around her room. It’s seven o’clock in the morning in New York.

  She trudges past her bed and pulls the curtains back. The white light of the sky briefly swallows the surroundings up before her eyes start to lazily adjust. It’s only when her gaze falls down an inch that she sees the snow and a groan escapes her. She pushes her lips up into a pout and shakes her shoulders, determined not to let the whistling wind and the carpet of ice on the pavements put her in a bad mood.

  She walks over to the bathroom and starts filling the bath with warm water, leaning her back against it as she brushes her teeth. Her thoughts carry her away for a while, like the leaves in the wind outside. A feeling of warmth floats inside her as her thoughts drift to the people she loves. Her aunt and uncle who raised her are her rock. Her friends at high school keep her thankfully sane. Her choir band keeps her motivated. And her mother keeps her alive.

  She spits and rinses and walks over to the phone. She thinks about calling her mother, but at the last minute, as the water climbs to the brim of the tub, she decides against it and rushes to the bathroom, turning the taps off swiftly. Maybe I might see her today, she thinks. Maybe she might come and visit me. But the last thought makes her sigh miserably and her thoughts spiral, like water sucked down a plughole.

  ***

  The next day, Annette flips through her diary to confirm the timing of her appointment with Abigail. Then she lifts the phone from the receiver and dials her number.

  ‘Hi, Abigail. Are you coming?’

  ‘I’m on my way. Sorry, I lost track of time!’ she says, sounding winded.

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll see you in ten?’

  Abigail lets out a puff of air. ‘I’m half an hour away. Shall we re-schedule?’

  Annette looks at her watch. ‘No. I’d like to see you today.’

  ‘OK. See you soon!’

  Annette stares at her computer screen, overflowing with minimised files. She clicks on one of the files and sighs, glancing away. Her gaze settles on the birthday gift for David on her desk. The wrapping is made from pink lace with miniature 3D hearts sowed into the material. She got it as a joke, knowing it’ll make him laugh when she’s not there to make him laugh herself. Tapping the pen on the table, she contemplates whether she has enough time to file her reports. Deciding that she does, she slides her drawer open and blindly reaches for the paperwork, hitting empty air. She quickly lowers herself next to her desk and looks inside. After a moment of panic and a sharp smack of her head against the desk, she remembers that she left the reports in the communal cabinet.

  As if foreseeing the need for his presence, David’s text lights her phone blue.

  I’ll meet you not at home, but at your work.

  For when you’re in Rome, there shall be no such perk!

  Annette laughs. She wants to text him back and tell him that the conference is in New York, not Rome, but the grin sprouting from her face reminds her that neither of them needs reminding of how far she will be travelling away from him.

  She quickly walks out of her office, climbing the stairs two at a time. As she approaches the playroom, she stops and takes a quick peek inside. Eventually, the sight of children being children pulls her into full view. As she enters, a little boy runs up to her.

  ‘Look what I made from the big blocks of Lego!’ he says excitedly. He points to the house and garden on the table. A few children are crowding around the Lego-building, standing on tiptoe to see inside. She kneels beside the house.

  ‘Mathias, this is brilliant!’ she says, impressed by the intricate decor of the garden. ‘Is this a house for you and your friends to live in?’

 
‘Yes. It’s even better than the original.’ He excitedly fixes a tree onto the grass.

  ‘There’s an original?’ she asks, intrigued.

  He nods. ‘You’ve seen it in the photo,’ he says, as if this should be obvious. Annette smiles with her mouth but frowns with her eyes.

  ‘I have! What photos are these?’

  ‘The orphanage! It’s my home!’ He shrugs and then moves off to the other side of the room, the clay machine newly catching his focus. Annette gets up and turns in the other direction, towards the exit. As she nears the door, she smiles at the play receptionist.

  ‘Claudia, how is Alex doing? Does she play with the other children?’

  Claudia hesitates. ‘Alex hasn’t come to play for a while now,’ she says. Annette lifts an inquiring brow and waits. ‘Well, Alex refuses to come in here.’

  ‘What does she do when she has come to play?’

  Claudia pauses for too long. ‘She’s been having a lot of nightmares –.’

  ‘I’m well aware of the nightmares, but you haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘Er… Alex hasn’t come to play at all. Mary takes books and toys to her room instead.’

  Annette’s jaw tightens. She’d not read this in any of the child’s notes. ‘Why has nobody informed me?’ Claudia looks panicked. ‘Tell Mary I want to see her!’ Annette walks briskly out of the room, locates the report files and re-enters her office. Pouring a cup of coffee, she feels herself shaking with anger and tries her best to focus on the files. As she transfers her energy into her work, she feels productive and calmer.

  Twenty minutes later, when Annette has replied to David and finished filing the caseload of reports, Abigail knocks on the door and enters.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ she cries, looking flustered.

  Annette gets up and pours her a glass of cold water. ‘Have a seat, Abigail.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Annette. Sometimes time just flies by! I know you’re very busy and you’re doing this huge favour for me.’

  Annette smiles warmly. ‘It’s fine. I would have rescheduled if it was a problem.’

  ‘OK,’ Abigail says, finally accepting her words as the truth.

  ‘It’s unlike you to lose track of time,’ Annette observes gently.

  ‘Yeah, I guess it is,’ Abigail says, as if she hasn’t considered this before.

  Annette places the glass in front of her. ‘In our last session, you told me you’d been experiencing migraines, nausea, vomiting and dizziness. Are you still experiencing these?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. Today I thought we’d try and tap into why this is happening. Remember we spoke about how a person deals with trauma memories differently to everyday memories.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about what happened! Plus, you already know most of it!’ Abigail says defensively.

  ‘That’s true,’ Annette says calmly, remembering how Felix told her that Abigail reported experiencing a blank about the event. He assumed she had employed a familiar coping strategy of memory loss to deal with the trauma. But then the memory would appear as flashbacks when Abigail least expected them, which is why she is here now. ‘Abigail, it’s natural to try and block out or suppress trauma memory, but avoiding it means the memory remains raw, frightening and unprocessed. It gets stuck in your mind and causes distressing intrusions, flashbacks and nightmares. I really think it would be good for you to turn towards your trauma memory in the safety of this room.’

  ‘Sure,’ Abigail says, very quietly.

  ‘This is completely your choice. But turning towards your memory will involve describing what happened when you were at the orphanage, over a number of sessions, and working on the memory together. What are your thoughts?’

  ‘I don’t want to do this. But I trust you.’

  ‘Abigail, I don’t want you to have these awful memories and feelings, I want to help you to put this horrible memory away so it’s not controlling your life anymore. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Yes, I’m willing to give it a go,’ Abigail says, with more conviction.

  ‘Good. Are you still having flashbacks?’

  ‘Yes. Two, sometimes three in one day.’

  ‘How long do they last?’

  ‘A couple of minutes, at the most.’

  ‘Are they increasing in frequency?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are they increasing in length?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Abigail’s responses are quick, making Annette doubt if she’s giving her answers much thought.

  ‘OK, when was your last flashback?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘Has the content increased in your flashbacks?’ Annette asks, but Abigail looks away. ‘In your last flashback, you saw Green Orphanage. You were trapped inside it and you couldn’t get out. Did you have the same flashback yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Annette watches Abigail. ‘Your earlier flashbacks were more about you and the fearful feelings the orphanage elicits in you. Is the emotion still fear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. Is anything else happening in them?’

  ‘No.’

  Annette decides to change tack. ‘So when does time fly by, Abigail?’

  This time, she is rewarded with Abigail’s attention as she finally looks at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asks.

  ‘Earlier, you said that time flies by. You used the word sometimes.’

  Abigail frowns. ‘So?’

  ‘If it flies by quickly sometimes, the rest of the time it must move slowly, or not move at all?’

  Still, Abigail looks perplexed.

  ‘Let’s look at it this way. When has time stood still for you? Maybe in your flashbacks, time moves slowly. Maybe your last flashback was actually today. Maybe you didn’t realise how quickly real time flies by because at that time you were in a totally different world in your mind.’ When Abigail doesn’t respond, Annette leans forward. ‘Am I right?’ she asks gently.

  ‘Yeah,’ she whispers.

  ‘OK. How long did your flashback last today?’

  ‘I don’t know. Like you said, I lose track of time. My guess would be less than ten minutes. It felt longer.’

  Annette approaches the next question gently. ‘Can you tell me what triggered it?’

  Abigail looks as if she’s about to rush out of the room. Annette thinks about taking a break but stops herself from offering it, knowing that it will be worse for Abigail if she let’s her avoid this.

  ‘I went into work today. I grabbed a cup of coffee, sat down and started working. The rest of the morning was fine.’

  ‘Did you feel like you were pushing any thoughts away at that moment?’

  ‘No. When they’re not there, they don’t exist at all. I went into Felix’s office to get some files. It was boiling in there. When I returned to my desk, the heat didn’t vanish. I started to sweat uncontrollably and I was panting. And then it just happened, right in front of my eyes!’

  Annette recognises the newly dazed look in her eyes. ‘Try and stay with me, Abigail. We’re only talking about the trigger right now, not the memory. Abigail?’

  ‘It happened so quickly!’ Abigail hesitates. ‘How is she?’

  Annette’s jaw clenches. She is hoping, against all odds, that Abigail isn’t waiting for her to answer.

  ‘Annette?’

  ‘I can’t say,’ Annette answers. An uneasy silence looms in the room. ‘Trust me,’ she offers, but Abigail starts to rise.

  ‘I can’t do this!’ she cries. ‘I need to see her!’

  Annette rises too. ‘You know you’re not allowed –.’

  ‘No! I don’t want to do this anymore. This talking therapy doesn’t work for me. Felix made me ask you for help.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to be able to talk freely straight away. You shouldn’t either.’

  ‘I can’t talk. Not straight away! Not ever!’

  Annette walks over to the door
and holds it open for her. As Abigail is about to leave, she gently takes her arm. ‘If you think you can leave this room without talking about it and function easily afterwards – well, it either shows you’re ignoring the support you need or you’re stronger than the rest of the world. Your choice.’

  It’s earlier than usual when David arrives to pick Annette up. The drifting sun throws its rays on people’s faces, casting shards of fleeting golden silhouettes that slip effortlessly from one individual to the next.

  ‘I could never be the sun,’ Annette says, looking up at him. He licks his ice-lolly like a gleeful child and gulps.

  ‘Why?’ he asks, but Annette is already laughing. ‘What?’ he cries, as he wipes the sticky mess off his face and onto his hands.

  ‘Get a tissue. That’s gross!’

  He waves his palm in the air and before she can duck out of his reach, he slaps it on her face. She laughs, trying to writhe from his grip as he kisses the mess he has splattered on her skin. Her breath quickens as he presses her back against the gates aligning the pier and kisses her.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go tonight,’ he says. She looks over his shoulders to the point where the sea vanishes.

  ‘Me too!’

  He moves away to look at her. ‘If you were the sun, I could see you anywhere you went.’

  She grins. ‘Am I not hot enough for you down here?’

  He laughs.

  ‘I think I’d burn out pretty quickly though. I’d get lost in the big wide world up there.’

  ‘That’ll never happen. Because if you were a star that burned out, I’d search the world’s whole ceiling to find you.’

  ‘Even in the night time?’

  ‘Even if the sky was made out of black charcoal.’

  She grins. ‘It’d be pretty hard to find a dead star there!’

  He shrugs, dismissing her words. ‘I’ll find it, because it’ll still be shining for me.’

  Annette feels a kind of warm joy spreading inside her. She takes his face in her palms. ‘You’re solid proof that my profession is valuable,’ she says.

  This time, he frowns in confusion. ‘How?’