Seven Days Destinations

by Ruth Hay

  It started slowly in the beginning. Zoe must not feel retreating to her room was her only option, but gradually, with the icy slowness of a glacier, from Wesley’s perspective, but gradually, nevertheless, Zoe began to smile at Zach’s antics and hold him while Iris fetched some item or put on the kettle for tea.

  Wesley was convinced it was Iris’ bright manner and soft lilting voice that did the magic. The two women bonded over Zachary, who Iris declared to be “the loveliest wee mannie on this side of Dublin town!” She had some authority in making this statement as she had cared for a number of babies including, from her references, a scion of one of the minor Royals.

  Wesley had chosen well.

  Two months. Eight weeks. So much change. So much to learn.

  * * *

  “There you both are! Been having a nice chat with your Daddy? I have a lovely warm bottle for you here, then we’ll get you bathed and go and see how your Mummy is feeling this morning. I think we can all have a turn around the garden and see how the daffodils are blooming.”

  This itinerary was for Wes’ benefit. He nodded approval, kissed Zach, handed him over and went back upstairs to dress for the day, leaving Iris in charge.

  Zoe was sitting up in bed and she looked wonderful as usual. They exchanged kisses.

  “Darling Wes, I think I should go into the office this morning for a short while. Suzanne has been superb and keeps me in the loop but I think I must prepare for returning to work.”

  It was not what he wanted to hear at all, but it was a sign that her anxiety was diminished in some respects, at least.

  “That’s a good idea, Zoe, but don’t overtire yourself and don’t take on too much responsibility yet.

  I’ll be home by one o’clock and you have an appointment with Louis this afternoon as usual.”

  “I’ll be careful, darling. I’ll take a taxi and be home before you arrive.”

  “All right, then. I need to go now but let’s talk about your morning later.”

  He blew her a kiss on his way out the door.

  Zoe Morton-Philips, sank back against the pillows. She was exhausted with trying to keep up the pretence of normality for Wesley when everything she felt and thought was very far from normal. This breakdown, depression, nervous panic attack, fear of motherhood……………. whatever label she had been given, was not over by any means.

  Yes, she felt a bit better and could now tolerate a minute of Zach’s crying, although she had to grit her teeth to maintain her composure. She watched Iris handle everything that had to be done on a daily basis for her baby boy’s comfort and wellbeing, and she marvelled at the older woman’s skills. And yet, she could not wish to take over such a regimen. She was convinced she was incapable of doing so.

  Louis Bernier had asked her to delve into her past and find out the source of her discomfort. It was a difficult task and one she had shunned initially. She was sure the two men had conferred to some degree and Wesley had shared some of her background, particularly what had happened in her teenage years.

  The awful discovery of her mother’s suicide no longer bore the painful emotions and distraught reactions of that terrible time. Those were overlaid with Wesley’s expert care and laid to rest when he effected the reconciliation with her father, Michael. But, and it was a big but, she suspected there were residual and deep wounds about motherhood that had resisted all attempts to heal.

  Louis agreed they needed to examine her early feelings about her mother and he suggested a journal writing exercise to be reviewed on his thrice weekly visits. She picked up the journal and wondered what would be useful for today’s session.

  She had written about her babyhood which consisted of details told to her by her mother’s students in Glasgow, Sandra and Valerie. There were no significant markers there as far as she could see. The two students had later done some babysitting while her mother taught at the Teacher’s College. They had not reported any problems between Zoe and her mother. In fact, they both greatly admired Grace as a teacher and spoke very highly about her.

  Her father’s accounts of the same period had been a little less complimentary. He said his wife was very much focused on her career and anxious to conceal her pregnancy in case she was dismissed before her three-year term was over. Zoe got the sense he disapproved, because her parents had struggled to become pregnant and he did not want to chance anything going wrong.

  She tried to reconcile these differing opinions and come up with something, anything, as an indicator of future trauma. The truth was, she remembered next to nothing about these years. She had read about people who could recall the first time they saw or heard, or experienced, an event during their first two or three years but she was unable to dredge up anything at all. Perhaps Louis Bernier would find that very absence to be an indicator of some kind.

  Mostly he expected Zoe to make conclusions for herself. She found this very hard and often there were long silences which he appeared to want her to fill with her observations. Once or twice she had been tempted to invent something, but knowing it might be discussed with Wesley, she kept silent or waited for elusive inspiration.

  She had to keep reminding herself that she was an accomplished business person, the recipient of several awards for promoting the cause of women in the workplace. She had held the position of CEO of Excelsior Cosmetics for over a decade and increased the value of the company’s shares by twenty percent. In the business world, Zoe Morton was a force to be reckoned with.

  It was only in the moments when she could recall her previous successes that she felt strong again. This was the reason she wanted to go back to work. She had hopes, when she restored her confidence, the problem of her son would be solved. She never doubted Wesley’s devotion but even the most devoted of men might grow weary of waiting for his wife to be a mother to his only child.

  It had been two long months.

  She gazed in despair at the blank page of her journal and threw down the pen in frustration.

  Chapter Two

  A Thursday in May.

  There was a room in the base of the clock tower in Dunstan’s Close where all the gifts sent to Zachary on his birth had been stored. Neither Zoe nor Wesley could bear to enter the door and see the piles of happy cards and gracious baby presents. Wesley had asked Beth to help him draft replies to all their friends and colleagues. She had come to Dunstan’s Close on two successive weekends to accomplish this task and to her great credit, she had never once asked why the beautiful items were not in use, or why she was writing the notes for him instead of Zoe.

  As time went by and there were no invitations to come to London and meet the new baby, there were questions and concerns that Wesley knew were being ignored. He also knew this situation could not continue any longer.

  Iris was a firm fixture in the home. Wesley worked most mornings and Zoe also worked for part of the day. The sessions with Louis Bernier continued and Zoe insisted they were helpful, but Louis confided he was not of the same opinion.

  “My friend, I believe your wife is attending these meetings with me to please you. She has not contributed anything meaningful either in our conversations or in her journaling. I feel she is reluctant to delve deeply enough to uncover the reason for her fear of motherhood. I suspect it is tied to her mother’s desertion, which is how she perceives the suicide, and yet she has not made that mental leap for herself.”

  Wesley sighed deeply. He could not help noticing how Iris was becoming his son’s mother figure. Zoe was progressing in contact with her son but so much time had now gone by that he was afraid it could never be recovered, and there would always be a rift between Zachary and his birth mother. Wesley was also afraid that Iris might soon prefer to go elsewhere and leave him with the impossible task of finding a substitute.

  “Look, Louis. I appreciate your candour. This cannot go on much longer without severe damage being done to Zach’s relationship with his mother. I need help. What can you suggest?”

  Louis Be
rnier was prepared for this question. He had watched as his friend and colleague had grown more and more tightly wound in the last month. He was ready with a risky strategy.

  “I think it’s time to take a chance and force Zoe to confront the result of her abdication of responsibility for Zachary.”

  “How would we do that?”

  Louis gauged the level of Wes’ desperation by the speed with which he had accepted this suggestion.

  “Invite your closest friends to visit. They will be shocked and it could make Zoe confront her issues in a serious way.”

  “What? It might be dangerous. What if she regresses and loses the little progress she has made?

  Frankly, I am afraid of the risk.”

  “I understand your fear, Wes, but what else can you do? Zachary is forming a very strong bond with Iris. Soon he will identify her as his mother. If he speaks his first word, “dada” to you, and his second word “mama’ to Iris, Zoe will never recover.”

  “My God, you may be right! That would be devastating. I will have to think about this, Louis. It’s a big step to take.”

  “I realize it is. Meantime, I think I should reduce or abandon my meetings with Zoe. She will still have your support, of course. Is there someone else you would trust to continue with therapy?”

  “My former teacher, Professor Aylward Beck, is wise and knowledgeable. He knows Zoe but he lives in Toronto.”

  “I have heard of Professor Beck. He could at least advise you, Wes. It might be worth a try.”

  “Perhaps you are right about that. Thank you, Louis. You have done your best for us.”

  “Let me know what happens. I am always on call for you, Wes.”

  * * *

  An hour or two passed before Wesley could summon the courage to call Aylward Beck. He had been in contact once, since Zachary was born, because the Becks had sent a most extravagant gift for the baby.

  At that time, Wesley had given him some indication that all was not well with Zoe. He felt that by now, Aylward and Marian would have formed their own conclusions as to the problem.

  He dialed with some trepidation, but also in desperation. He had to get help for Zoe.

  “Wesley, my boy, so good to hear from you again! Marian was just saying how much she would love it if you would bring the family here for a summer break. Our new condo in the sky with fabulous views of the Toronto Islands has plenty of room for guests. There’s an entire suite we can reserve for you three any time you want.”

  “Very kind of you both, Aylward, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” His voice quavered and died.

  Aylward Beck had not been a top psychotherapist for nothing. He recognized the signs and immediately dialled down the happy talk for something more serious, as befitting the situation.

  “Ah, I see. I was hoping there might be some improvement in Zoe’s condition. I presume it’s a case of Post-Partum depression of some kind? How upsetting for you. What can I do to help? Zoe did so much for our granddaughter Portia. We owe you an enormous debt of gratitude.”

  “You, of all people, must see the irony of having to ask for assistance for my wife when it was she who set up the Portal Project to give aid to young women with mental issues, women like Portia.”

  “I do see how this troubles you, Wesley. Is there no progress?”

  “A little improvement only, I’m afraid; nothing of significance. I cannot ask you to participate personally, Aylward, much as I would like to. You must concentrate on Marian’s health now. I would ask of you a recommendation. Zoe has worked with a male colleague of mine for a time, but he feels he can help her no longer. Perhaps you could suggest the name of a female therapist who is experienced in these areas?”

  Normally, Aylward Beck would request considerable time before recommending a therapist. In this situation, because he could hear the anguish in Wesley Philips’ voice, he racked his brain in an attempt to come up with a suitable name at once. Fortunately, he glanced down and saw, on the table in front of him, an article in a magazine which he had been reading earlier. It was in praise of an American therapist who was renowned for work with female patients and who had recently won an award from the prestigious American Society of Psychotherapists for her work.

  “Wesley, get a copy of this month’s Psychology Today. There’s a profile you will be interested in. Her name is Sophia D. Vantisen. She has done much work with women and might be exactly the person who could help Zoe.”

  “I’ll do that immediately! Thank you for such a quick response, Aylward. As each day passes I become more and more concerned for our son’s relationship with his mother. We both know the dire effects of maternal rejection. I don’t have much time.”

  “I am confident you will do the right thing, my boy. Marian and I will be here if you need us.

  Goodbye for now.”

  Wesley could hardly get the final word of farewell out of his mouth. His throat had closed with emotion. It was so reassuring to talk to someone who understood the situation. As this thought struck him with undeniable force, he realized Louis’ idea of supplying Zoe with the same kind of reassurance was possibly the best thing to try. He would make efforts to contact this Dr. Vantisen but he would also call Sandra Halder on Mull, Valerie Westwood in Canada and Corinne Carstairs in the Midlands, and pray that one of them, at least, could come to London as soon as possible.

  Zoe returned from a busy morning in the Excelsior offices and stood quietly with her hand on the ornate doorknob of her home. She took a moment to remember all the blood, sweat and tears that had gone into the renovation of the old church building that was now a sturdy testament to love, renewal and determination.

  She and Wesley had achieved this together. Much like they had created Zachary together. How could it be that the building was here, solid and growing more beautiful every day, while their dream of perfect parenthood was fading like a valuable tapestry left out in the sun.

  Wesley had never accused her of failing either him or Zachary. He had not set a time limit on her recovery but she knew in her heart how much he suffered on behalf of their little boy.

  She raged inside at the injustice of it. If she could will herself to become the warm, happy mother Wesley had expected, and Zach deserved, she would do it in a second. But wishing was not the solution.

  She could feel anger. She could feel regret. She could not feel the overwhelming love for Zachary that she had felt when he was safely in her womb.

  She no longer winced when he looked at her. He no longer looked at her for a response. He was content with Iris’ care and attention. She should have been jealous of Iris. Instead she was grateful to the woman who did what her baby’s mother could not do.

  This too, was likely unnatural.

  She, Zoe Morton-Philips, was an unnatural mother and, seemingly, no one could help her.

  A tear trickled down her cheek. Should she flee and relieve everyone in Dunstan’s Close of her presence? The deep, dark, fast-flowing Thames River was not far away. Her body could be swept out to sea. It would not be found for days or weeks. By then she would be forgotten and Zach could be happy with the lovely, motherly Iris.

  In her mind she was jumping from the Embankment into the river and a chill, like icy water, swept through her from her head to her feet, and back to the hand that still clasped the doorknob.

  It was the solid feel of the doorknob that brought her back to reality.

  What in the name of all that’s holy am I thinking?

  How could I even contemplate doing such a thing to Wesley, my beloved husband who has stood by me all these weeks? God in heaven, is this how my mother felt?

  Before the evil thoughts could return she flung open the door and threw down her briefcase and coat on a chair, running into the kitchen and searching for a sight of Zachary, or Wes or Iris. Anyone who could confirm that she had not actually done or said anything so wicked. Please God, they would not be able to read it in her face.

  “There you are, Mummy! This l
ittle one wants you to feed him his applesauce. I’ll fetch you a tea towel to protect your pretty blouse. Sit right here and I’ll pop Zachary in his chair.”

  She fell into the chair beside the baby’s high chair with relief. She was too raw to worry about herself for fear of the dreadful thoughts she had just experienced showing in her face or manner. She picked up the open jar and the plastic spoon and offered a spoonful to her son.

  Zachary Philips loved sweetened applesauce and he opened wide to get every drop. At this moment he would not have cared if a monkey had offered the treat. He was focussed on what he wanted.

  Zoe had not even tried to smile at him. He was happily ignoring her and, for once, she was relaxed and watching him instead of watching for her own negative reactions.

  When Wesley arrived from the kitchen with the warmed bottle in his hand, he stepped back and his mouth fell open in surprise. Iris touched his arm and signalled to him to stay quiet. They both watched in amazement.

  Iris was experiencing deep satisfaction. She had known all along this moment would occur naturally if she had patience.

  Wesley felt like weeping. He had begun to despair of ever seeing such a sight. And yet, he knew it was merely a first, tentative step. Zoe would not recover overnight.

  He became conscious of moments passing and was alerted to intervene before Zach cried or Zoe suddenly did something awkward and spoiled this unusual, happy interlude. Better to approach now and keep this as a successful step forward for both of them.

  “Well, hello my two precious people! How wonderful to see you together like this. He cast a beaming smile on Zoe and an equally reassuring one on their son. “Shall we let Mummy go and change now? I’ll give you this bottle and then I need to talk with Mummy before I go to work. Is that all right with you two?”