by Hiba Basit
She smiles sleepily. ‘What time is it?’ she asks, nestling closer to him.
‘Nearly six.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Annie, Matt just called.’ She is immediately alert, sensing the seriousness in his voice. ‘Mel had a miscarriage.’ Annette feels as if the bed she’s lying on is being ripped away from beneath her. She shakes her head and covers her arms over it, feeling devastated.
‘Where is she?’ she asks.
David leans against her. ‘Still in hospital. John and Amelie are with her.’
‘What about Mali?’
‘She’s at home. Matt’s with her. She’s taken a day off school.’
Annette wraps her arms as tightly as she can around him because she is desperately trying to feel something good. ‘What should we do?’ she asks, her mind going blank.
‘We’ll go see her in the evening. Let’s give them some time to themselves first.’
Annette’s head starts to swim. David plants a kiss on her head and rests his cheek there.
‘You should get ready for work. What’s on your schedule?’
‘The personal therapy session.’
He lets out a sigh, catching on to her annoyance. ‘Did you speak to Jordan?’
‘No point. The board will realise that I’m in my right mind to continue my job as usual. Jordan will have wasted my time and theirs today.’
‘I can’t see why he would arrange debriefing unless he was extremely concerned about you. What did he actually say?’
‘That he was worried I may be losing focus.’
David struggles to hold back a grin. ‘I don’t think you’d lose focus even if you were thrown into a cyclone.’
‘Yeah,’ she says, lifting her brows and trying to smile. ‘But try telling that to bolshie Jordan.’
They lay there in each other’s arms for a while longer, both of them not wanting to be apart right now, especially after hearing of Mel and Matt’s news.
‘Annie,’ David says after a moment’s silence. ‘We’re not getting pregnant.’ Annette links her fingers with his. ‘It’s only been a little while, darling. Let’s keep trying.’
She eventually gets out of bed and makes her way to the bathroom. Closing the door, she leans against the bath, suddenly feeling as if she’s about to keel over. She wonders if she’s done the right thing with David. If she was being honest with herself, she was ready to have a family with him and give him what he’d wanted all his life: a child. But the idea of conceiving a baby with him, along with the news of Mel’s miscarriage, had opened up a can of worms for her, a horrific episode from her past she’d never wished to remember. She chokes on a sob as she remembers the time she travelled to the hospital to get a hysterectomy. She would never have done it if she’d known this was the life she’d eventually have.
As she runs herself a bath, she wonders when David will stumble upon the next lie from her past and how long it will take for him to pack up his things and make her worst nightmare come true by leaving her for good.
In front of Annette sits a panel with three members she doesn’t recognise. They stare at her in unison, all three of them wearing similar pairs of dull thin-rimmed glasses. Shaking their hands, she smiles at each of them in turn and sits down in the single chair on her side. Crossing her legs, she waits for them to introduce themselves and start the assessment process. Already, she’s thinking about her next meeting with Abigail today and worrying about the article she needs to submit, for which the final draft still remains unfinished.
‘Where should we start?’ she asks, trying to speed the briefing process up. They study her uncertainly, as if they’re not sure if she’s said something foul.
‘This meeting will last for one hour. Do you have anywhere to be?’ the woman on the left of the panel asks in a childish yet guttural voice. As if in response, Annette’s pager beeps noisily in the room. Reluctantly, she stops herself from reaching it and scanning the message content. When it beeps for the second time, she turns it off, sensing from their expressions that this is what she should have done from the beginning. She curses Jordan under her breath and shakes her head at the man and two women sitting oddly in silence before her, when they should be directing the entire meeting.
‘Tea?’ the man asks Annette.
‘No, thanks!’ He gets up nonetheless and begins making four cups of tea. She is about to crack a grin at how absurd these assessors are when the man coughs and introduces himself as Nev. He hands her a cup of tea, which she declines decisively.
‘The rationale for today’s debriefing session concerns arguments related to your professional and personal role at the hospital,’ Nev begins. ‘Although your supervisor has stated that there is no marked cause for concern regarding your work ethic, Jordan has arranged a personal assessment on your behalf based on core professional standards. He senses that your administration of patient care is conflicting with your conduct.’ As she listens to Nev babble on further about the objectives of the meeting, she realises that she hasn’t in fact turned her pager off but accidentally placed it on vibrate. Luckily, the vibration doesn’t sound off in the room, but she does wonder who’s paged her three times in less than half an hour.
From the corner of her eye, she notices that the woman on her left is taking rapid notes of her behavioural presentation. She begins nodding without hearing what’s being said, hoping her responses are in some way appropriate.
‘We’ll ask you a couple of questions,’ Nev goes on. ‘Then, we’ll make a decision and inform you of the outcome.’
‘Sure,’ she says, utterly unperturbed about the as yet undetermined outcome. ‘With luck, I’m sure you’ll all make the right decision.’
‘I like the way you await your future,’ says Nev, with a hint of sarcasm, making her speculate whether he’s flirting with her. The woman sitting next to him coughs rather deliberately, confirming her suspicion. Nev begins to ask questions about her daily routine at the hospital, work procedures, quantity of clinical cases, outcome of past cases, her origin, current circumstances and personal life, even questions about her relationship with David and his work title, which she is obliged to answer. Finally, nearing the end, he hands her a written summary of the meeting and she flips her blinking pager from her pocket, no longer able to wait, and the words on the screen illuminate the message. As she reads them, her heart sinks and she springs up from her seat, telling the examiners she has to leave this minute and apologising for her impromptu departure.
Annette lingers outside the door, squinting through the little window at Alex. She is bent over a small wooden table, her knees digging into the ground beneath her.
‘Hey,’ she says, entering the room. Alex looks to see who has entered and then returns to her drawing without responding. ‘What have you got there?’
‘It’s just a picture, Miss,’ she replies with a sigh. Annette kneels down beside her.
‘You’re the only one who calls me Miss.’
‘It’s just a drawing. Nothing more, nothing less.’
‘Do you want to talk about what happened today?’
Alex rests her head in her hands. ‘You always want to talk.’
Her words put a smile on Annette’s face. ‘I take it that’s your way of telling me to pipe down.’
This elicits a smile from her. ‘It’s selfish, that’s all.’ She continues with her picture.
‘What are you drawing?’
‘I’m not drawing. I’m sketching because I’m using charcoal.’
‘What is it you’re sketching?’ Alex slides her artbook towards her, smearing the table with black smudges. ‘What is this?’ Annette asks, staring at the sketch.
‘You tell me,’ Alex exclaims eagerly, with a grin sprouting her face.
Annette studies it. ‘Well, all I see is a tap and bucket,’ she says, appearing confused.
Alex stares into the distance, slipping away. Annette slides towards her, knowing full well that the space between them is bordering on unprofessional. Something about Alex, however,
pulls her forward, has pulled her from the very start.
As she looks into her eyes, they are hot with tears. ‘Let me give it another go,’ she says, but Alex places a finger on her arm. She does it ever so gently, if Annette wasn’t looking, she wouldn’t know it was there.
‘I know I shall die,’ she whispers fiercely.
Annette struggles to keep up. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Don’t you know things before they happen?’ She’s asked this question before.
‘The only way you know that you’ll die is if you try and kill yourself again. Alex, is that what you’re trying to tell me?’
Alex wrenches her drawing back and towers over her.
‘You have so much faith, you don’t even see what’s wrong with that,’ Alex says. Annette is stunned by the rage in her voice.
‘Is having faith that things will work out such a bad thing?’
‘Yes, because faith is an illusion.’ The air around them suddenly becomes charged. ‘Choice is an illusion.’ Annette’s breathing quickens but she can’t figure out what to say next. Everything she’d done today was her choice. She’d woken up and had the free will to make any decision she’d want to make. Alex might not feel the same way because horrible things have happened to her and she is battling with her emotions, but she still has choice. Alex suddenly places her palm on Annette’s face, making her flinch. She seems charged with something and it makes Annette want to pull back.
‘Alex, even if faith is an illusion, isn’t it better to still have faith?’
‘Miss, it’s OK. I’m going to fall. Having faith or not having it won’t change that.’
‘So, you believe in Fate?’
‘You still make it sound like a choice. It believes in me.’
‘And your Fate is a death-wish?’ Annette asks, appalled.
‘It was, until I met you,’ she says. Annette doesn’t know what to make of this. Has she given Alex hope of survival, of a better life? But that doesn’t make sense. Alex still believes that her life is already doomed and she’s just taking the necessary steps until her life comes to a predictable, dreadful end.
‘I think even if Mummy didn’t leave me with Andrei, I would have turned out fucked up anyway,’ Alex says. Her voice is so gentle, it makes the swear word that’s just left her mouth sound even more horrid.
Annette shudders at the impact Andrei has left on her. An eleven-year-old should never speak like this. An unwanted image of Alex as a teenager pops into her mind, unruly, street-bound, prey to people who would easily take advantage of her again. It sends a chill down her back.
‘Alex, I believe in you. I believe good things will come to you. I think you can move past this.’
‘Impossible! I can’t move. I’m wobbling too much. I’ll always wobble.’
‘What if believing you’ll always wobble is making it difficult for you to believe anything else?’
‘I have no choice!’
‘Alex, you do! We all have choice!’
‘No matter what I choose, it keeps me where I am.’
‘Alex –.’
‘No choice!’ Alex screams, dropping her artbook to the floor and running past her.
Annette kneels on the floor and rests her hands there, taking in deep gulps of air. As she listens to Alex’s footsteps race to her room, something overcomes her, an intense instinctual feeling that’s insisted on staying with her ever since that very first day she saw her lying on the hospital chairs. She won’t let Alex hurt this way any more. She won’t let things pass like she did with Morgan, she won’t let things go unattended, she won’t hold back any more. After all, wasn’t this what made her succeed? That she went steps beyond the expected, that she always found a way to connect with children? It wasn’t because of Alex or Morgan alone, it was both of them, together. Two little girls: one who she’d lost in the past, one who she felt like she was losing now. In the end, the question was simple: who wouldn’t overstep the mark and go beyond boundaries to help a child if they had the power she did in her job?
She grabs the artbook and sprints out of the art room. Reaching her room, she thrusts the door open and finds Alex staring out of the locked window. Alex hasn’t been educated, she doesn’t know about science, about control, about free will. She’s grown up with Andrei who’s made her believe the only way out of her suffering is to die tragically and that she has no choice to change her Fate. It’s wrong. Alex is suffering because she’s choosing to believe in her Fate, not because this is her Fate.
‘Alex, you have choices you can make, even if you don’t feel like you can make them right now. There are always choices!’
Alex turns around. Her eyes look darker than usual, as if a grey cloud has settled over them. ‘Miss?’
Annette is too emotional, her hands are violently shaking, and she knows she should back off, but she finds her gaze moving to the drawing in her hand.
‘This picture, I think I know what it means.’
‘It’s not finished,’ Alex challenges.
‘I’m seeing what you want me to see, Alex. Trust that I know what you mean.’
‘With all due respect, Miss, I think you’ve overstepped the regular conduct of normal sessions.’ Annette is momentarily shocked. Who taught her to speak so properly for a child her age? It sounds unnatural and creepy coming from her.
‘The bucket you’ve drawn, it’s the kind made out of laths of wood,’ says Annette. ‘You’ve placed it under the tap which is turned off. But when I saw the water overflowing from the bucket, I thought how could it overflow if the tap is off? And I realised that the tap is on and off at the same time. It’s a dripping tap.’
Alex finally smiles. ‘What if you didn’t realise it was dripping?’
‘I wouldn’t turn it off.’
‘Yes, you wouldn’t,’ Alex says, matter of fact, suddenly smiling as if she’s solved a puzzle. She starts to laugh, leaving Annette baffled.
Annette slams Alex’s artbook on the dining table.
‘Is everything all right?’ David asks, appearing from behind the fridge door and startling her.
‘No!’
‘I came back to get lunch. Do you want some?’
She shakes her head, instead rubbing her temple with her finger and thumb. ‘I need a break from all this,’ she moans, dropping her head onto the place mat.
‘Tough day at work?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Want to talk about the debriefing?’
She laughs bitterly. ‘Talking doesn’t always help.’
‘What’s that you got there?’ He lingers over the opened page in the artbook.
‘Something one of the children sketched.’ She hands it to him.
‘A bucket and a tap. Imaginative!’ She takes it back, feeling her agitation grow. ‘Maybe Jordan’s right,’ she sighs.
‘That you’re losing your mind?’ he teases.
‘That I should consider a family to foster her.’
‘Who?’
She bites her lip. ‘Alex.’
‘Did she draw that?’
Annette nods. ‘I can’t figure her out. Alex is an enigma to me.’
‘She was pretty badly abused. I’d be surprised if she was easy to figure out.’
‘I thought we were connecting. I thought I was getting through to her, but nothing I’m doing is working. She takes one step forward and five steps back. I feel like I’m not doing my job, David!’
‘Did she say anything to you about the drawing?’
Telling him now would be breaking confidentiality, something else she could add to her latest list of rule breaking. But she felt completely lost and maybe getting some advice from someone who was impartial might be just what she needed. Clearly, Jordan wasn’t much help recently.
‘She said the weirdest thing. That if I didn’t know a tap was dripping, I wouldn’t turn it off.’
‘Who said the beginning of a small problem is not the start of a life filled with pain?
Who said a drip of water is harmless when a flood is made out of all of the drips together?’
‘What?’ she asks, regarding him in confusion.
‘She’s talking about The Dripping Tap Effect. It’s a spiritual principle of Fate against choice, a metaphor for existence.’ Annette stares at him with curiosity. He takes a seat opposite her. ‘It’s the idea that everything has a start. Just like a flood begins with a drip, a tragedy begins with a problem, small at first. The bucket and water symbolise drowning.’
‘Drowning?’
‘The Dripping Tap Effect makes people believe they can’t be saved from their troubles. No matter how hard they try, they can’t turn the tap off. It keeps dripping until they’re drowning. People say that victims can predict where their life is heading so they end it before it gets to that stage. Suicide is the only way out of their suffering. For most, suicide becomes a compulsion.’
‘Gosh, you sound just like Alex. Is this some kind of rule?’
‘No, it’s Fate. And Fate only has one path lined up for these people.’
‘But if something is Fate, does that mean someone’s right to choice disappears?’
‘No, it means choice or no choice, Fate will prevail and what ends up happening is exactly what would have happened to begin with. Choice is an illusion!’
‘Hold on! That’s bollocks! That’s depressive thinking!’
‘Maybe it is, but maybe Alex is onto something. Maybe we’re all deluding ourselves in thinking we make choices, after all, these choices are a result of our experiences, the family we’re born into and what we’ve witnessed as children, stuff we never had any choice over. So, maybe the choices we make today stem from the times we couldn’t control, and if they do stem from that, then our choices have been planned from the day we were born.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ Annette says, but with less conviction.
‘You don’t have to believe it for it to be true. Most people only get a felt sense for it, like instinct. It’s a horrible feeling. I’m sure you’re a psychologist because of something that happened in your past. You thought you were making a choice but, when the inevitable events happened, you followed a path that was set out for you and it led you to where you are today. That’s Fate at work!’
