Abbie's Gift

by M. R. THOMAS

  Betrayal. And after all they had recently gone through together to be reunited. Could she hold her life together to make everything all right?

  “When are you meant to be going back to work?” Rose asked.

  “Soon, in a few days, but to be honest these last few days I haven’t thought about it, haven’t been able to”.

  “I’m not sure you’re well enough, really I don’t think you are”.

  “Maybe you’re right, I don’t know, I feel as though I don’t know anything anymore”.

  “It’s OK, you’ve been through such a lot, and you went from being distraught to very strong in a short space of time. You now seem to have run out of that mental and emotional energy, and you need time to recuperate and recharge your batteries. Don’t bite my head off, but I think you need to go to the doctor, and I’ll come with you if you want.”

  I don’t know Mum, it’s just fuss about nothing, I’ve just got to get on with my life”.

  “Maybe, but by your own admission, you just told me that you can’t, can you?”

  “No”, said Abbie weakly.

  “Then it’s settled, we’re going”.

  Rose felt that she had climbed a mountain: at last her daughter seemed to be beginning to realise that she needed some help.

  Abbie on the other hand felt unsure and anxious: what did all this mean? Everything about her journeys to find Peter and being with him had all seemed, no she knew, it had been real, and not her imagination. She had seen him, touched him, loved him.

  Or was she now so emotionally unstable that she couldn’t tell fact from fantasy? She didn’t think so, and there was another part of her mind telling her to get a grip, that she needed to be able to manage her physical life and her astral travel, control it all, for Peter’s sake.

  But Abbie felt mentally and emotionally exhausted and at a loss; she could not pretend anymore - all this was beyond her understanding and ability to cope.

  Rose offered to either stay with Abbie or have her stay at her house, but Abbie couldn’t agree to this; she needed space to work things through, and having someone close she felt would agitate her so decided against it.

  Kate visited later that evening, and Abbie apologised for being difficult and distant. She was reassured by Kate when she said that it didn’t matter at all.

  …………………………………………………………….

  Abbie was aware that her preoccupation with Peter had now taken over and controlled her life. Abbie also knew that, although it had only gone on for a matter of days, it somehow seemed to have harmed her, worn her out completely and, in some way, she felt easier now that her slightly peculiar behaviour had not gone unnoticed.

  The next day, Abbie and her mum sat in the medical centre, waiting for the appointment with Dr Black. Abbie noticed that Gill, the receptionist, still insisted on wearing that hideous scarf and she was equally off- hand with everyone who approached her. However, Abbie’s mum had spoken to another, seemingly kinder receptionist, who had worked some minor booking miracle and managed to get Abbie an appointment at short notice. Abbie didn’t know whether to be thankful or irritated.

  Abbie felt very uneasy, unsure what to say or do. She was restless and wanted fresh air; the heat in the waiting room hung heavy in the air, and she was beginning to get uncomfortable so took her coat off. Her throat felt dry, and she was aware of her heartbeat pounding in her chest.

  It was a busy place, and the waiting area was full of people. Somewhere nearby, the cry of a young child filled the room. Rose sat quietly and read an out-of -date magazine.

  Abbie was aware becoming more and more on edge as the clock drew nearer the time of the appointment. What should she say? What can or should she admit to?

  “God” she thought, “get me out of here!”

  Suddenly Abbie felt that all too familiar sense of dizziness creep up on her again; the world as she saw it lurched left and right, and then everything just disappeared.

  Abbie gradually became aware of lots of voices around her, and when she opened her eyes there was a small sea of faces looking down at her, including her mum’s, and she realised she was lying on the waiting room floor.

  “It’s all right,” said Rose, “you fainted, that’s all, and slipped off the chair”

  “Oh, sorry, can I get up please?” Abbie was helped up by one of the practice nurses who gave her a cup of water; when she tasted it, the coldness seemed intense and so cold it almost took her breath away. She sipped it slowly, but now her head hurt, and she just wanted to sleep.

  “Did you have any breakfast?” asked the nurse.

  “No not today” said Abbie.

  “That most likely caused this then, along with the heat, it’s too intense in here isn’t it?”

  Abbie was not in the mood for any conversation, she just smiled and nodded.

  Rose took hold of her hand. “We’re going in next, it’ll be alright, they let the next person after us go in to see Dr Black first”.

  Abbie didn’t speak. She felt odd.

  Over the surgery intercom, the announcement came for ‘the next patient for Dr Black to room 7’. Abbie didn’t respond until Rose said, “come on love that’s us” and stood up, grasping Abbie’s hand as she did so.

  As Abbie walked across the waiting room between the rows of chairs, just outside the window she noticed the trees and shrubs slowly being blown bare by the winter wind. Something caught her eye and she turned to look, stopping dead in her tracks: yet again, just for a moment, she had glimpsed some strange, flesh-coloured shape, but then it was gone again.

  In that moment it dawned on her, that recently she could recall several episodes of thinking that she had seen or felt something; when she’d been running on the track, she’d had an awareness of something moving, and the other night in the house she had felt as though she was being pressed into the chair, being pushed down. She had sensed something moving away from her then, but had seen nothing. And then shortly afterwards by the window in the darkness, she had been sure something was watching her, something she then realised had felt very similar to the ‘thing’ - another presence? Astral being? - that had passed by when she’d been with Peter recently.

  Abbie somehow knew suddenly that these things, whatever they were, had some malevolent intentions towards her, and it sent a shiver through her body, her flesh at once cold with goose bumps.

  “Come on love, let’s get in to see the doctor” said Rose.

  As Abbie sat in the doctor’s surgery, she had a feeling of total detachment from the reality of the present. What’s going on? She wondered.

  “Hello Abbie” began Dr Black, “are you feeling OK after fainting just now?”

  Abbie nodded.

  “It’s been a few days since we last spoke, what’s been happening?”

  Abbie then realised she hadn’t told Rose about her recent visit to the doctor’s or the panic episodes; she had not mentioned them, but now they were all out there.

  “I don’t know where to begin; my head is all over the place. One minute I think I’m doing all right, and then the next I know I’m not. I don’t want to do anything really, except be alone, and go running. No interest at all in anything else”.

  “Are you crying much at all?”

  “No, I haven’t been until yesterday”.

  “You’re grieving about Peter, and how he died?”

  “Yes, all the time, I can’t switch off, and it’s making me want to be isolated, everything else is too much”.

  “How’s your sleep?”

  “Variable, patchy is the best way to describe it, I’m very tired”

  “Are you overdoing it exercise-wise?”

  “Don’t think so, I feel it does me good”.

  “I’m sure it is but you have to fuel your body too, are you eating well?”

  “Small amounts really, but little and often”.

  “Ever forget to eat?”

  “Sometimes, yes, but really other time
s I can’t be bothered, no appetite”.

  “Any alcohol at all?”

  “A little, not a lot though, it goes to my head”. Surprising herself with the amount of information she was volunteering, Abbie went on:

  “I am having dreams though, very vivid ones, it’s difficult to tell dreams from reality. They’re so real and challenging, and at times they disturb me”.

  Rose looked over at Abbie, realising there were things she had no idea about, things just adding to her daughter’s suffering.

  “Oh, what sort of dreams, do you nightmares?” continued the doctor.

  “Kind of, I’m not really sure. I think that I dream a lot of Peter, being with him, it’s so real, it’s like I’m there. When I’m in these dreams it’s lovely, but when I’m awake it’s not good, and I can’t think of anything else. Then at other times, I feel that I’m being chased, and I sometimes think I see something but it moves quickly and then it’s gone. It’s disturbing and I can’t quite determine what’s been real anymore or what I’ve imagined”.

  “How do you feel now, emotionally - upset?”

  “No, just empty again, I only got upset yesterday ‘cause I realised that by being distant I’d upset mum”.

  “I understand” replied Dr Back. “Abbie, I’d like you to fill in this questionnaire for me now and relate it to how you have felt over the past few days; it’s straightforward, just tick or circle your answers, take your time”.

  Abbie wondered if these questions were somehow to trick her, catch her out. She looked down and skimmed through the first few, thinking how similar some of them sounded.

  She read: Have you been feeling: in perfectly good health? Felt run down? Better than usual? Same as usual? Worse than usual? Much worse?

  Have you been feeling ill? Same choice options, then other questions about sleep, worrying, feeling capable of making decisions and not wanting to live.

  Nothing about out-of-body experiences or hallucinations, Abbie thought to herself, and for that I should be grateful.

  Abbie completed the sheet fairly quickly and handed it back to the doctor.

  After a few minutes, Dr Black turned to Abbie and her mother.

  “This is measure of moods, and an insight into your current level of emotional functioning; the higher the score, the worse someone’s symptoms.

  Abbie, your score is higher than I would like, but then again considering everything you’ve been through, it can be expected. However, I do think that to do the best for yourself while you’re grieving, you need to speak to a professional who can help you to unravel all these thoughts and emotions, and maybe make more sense of them. You know, grief is a natural process, it takes time, but sometimes that process can get a bit stagnant and we need assistance. I’d like to refer you to see a counsellor, and soon, however the problem is the post code lottery”.

  “Sorry?” said Abbie, “I don’t understand”

  “Don’t worry” replied Dr Black, “it’s the system. Depending on where you live, that determines the efficiency of the service in the NHS you receive. Here I’m afraid, like many other areas, services for mental and emotional wellbeing fall short of the need; if I refer you today, I reckon that you’d get an assessment in about 6 -8 weeks. If you’re found suitable for treatment and you want it, then you would go on the waiting list, and realistically you could wait 3 months minimum, I’m sorry but that’s the way it is”.

  “Oh I see”, said Abbie.

  “How about private treatment?” suggested Rose. “If that’s an option, Abbie has a private health scheme from Peter’s employer”.

  “Oh yes’ said Dr Black, “then you could be getting support in a short time if that’s what you want. I can’t comment on fees, but if you want a recommendation, I know this chap”, she handed Abbie a business card. “Daniel West, he’s a psychotherapist and a very good one too, give him a call. He also does NHS work as well as some private clients”.

  “OK, thanks, I’ll think about it”, said Abbie.

  Rose commented rather sharply, “You have thought; thinking hasn’t done you too many favours lately now has it? I’ll make sure she contacts him”, Rose finished, turning to Dr. Black.

  “OK then, I want to see you again in 14 days Abbie. I don’t want to give you a medication prescription as I don’t think it’s necessary just yet. I’m sure all your symptoms are a direct reaction to everything you’ve been through, so let’s stop it getting any worse shall we?”

  After writing on her pad, she handed Abbie a medical certificate: unfit for work for 2 weeks, acute grief reaction.

  “Thank you” said Abbie.

  “In the meantime, contact me if you need to; otherwise see you in 14 days. Make an appointment today, it’s easier that way, and call Daniel, he can help you”.

  Abbie noticed the clock as she turned to leave; she had been in the surgery 11 minutes in total, four minutes over the national average, she thought.

  Outside Rose linked Abbie’s arm as they walked along. The wind seemed to have turned colder, and their brisk walk home heading into the cold air reddened their cheeks. They didn’t speak much but that felt comfortable for both of them.

  Once home and after making tea, Rose suggested to Abbie that there were things that she needed to do straight away: contact with the school regarding her absence; contact Daniel West for an appointment; and make a decision regarding Peter’s ashes and let his parents know.

  Realising resistance was futile, Abbie asked her mother to help, so Rose contacted the school on Abbie’s behalf, as she felt unable to speak to them, leaving a message for the Head teacher saying she was unwell and would off work at least two weeks, the emphasis in her voice on the ‘at least’.

  After a few more telephone calls to the health insurer, it was confirmed that Daniel West could provide her with counselling for an initial 6 sessions. Abbie would have to fund the sessions and then reclaim the costs.

  Abbie telephoned Daniel’s number; to her horror it was an answerphone. Her mind blank and racing, she left a garbled message about wanting an appointment, and could he please call her back?

  Then she waited.

  Dealing with the ashes was not going to be easy. Abbie was very unsure what to do, and the urn still sat untouched on the table where Peter’s father had put it several days before.

  She explained to her mum that she had thought of scattering them in the woods, and to her surprise, Rose didn’t seem to be shocked by this, saying she could understand her reasoning, but would his parents be happy with this?

  Rose suggested she make the telephone call on Abbie’s behalf, and Abbie was relieved, accepting the offer immediately.

  Rose wasted no time and got through straightaway. After a few minutes’ discussion, Rose replaced the receiver.

  “It’s agreed,” said Rose, “They know it’s a nice natural place and somewhere Peter enjoyed going. So, we’re all going together tomorrow morning”.

  Abbie looked a bit shocked at the speed of this decision.

  “Abbie, you must understand that this really needs to be done”.

  ………………………………………………………..

  Later that day after her mum had left, Abbie decided to go running.

  She knew exactly where she had to go, and now wished that she had done it sooner.

  After a few minutes running through the town, Abbie crossed the roads to the entrance of the woods and then, for a few minutes, she stood simply looking at the woodland path.

  She remembered having been there that day on one of her astral journeys, and what had happened there had changed her life. She wondered if Peter could see her now, and how close these two different dimensions were, yet worlds apart.

  Abbie removed her woollen hat from her head and walked on to the path. Once under the trees, she looked up and could see the mighty branches swaying in the wind; most of the leaves were now fallen and they crunched underfoot as she walked.

  She looked around her to se
e if she was all alone. She was, so softly she spoke, “Peter, Peter” but was answered only by the wind.

  Abbie decided to run, and continued along the path for several hundred yards through the trees, until the path emerged at the bottom of a grassy hill and wound its way into the distance. She stopped to get her breath and turned around to look back at the woods along the path she’d just run.

  This time, Abbie immediately felt an uneasiness come over her, as though she was being watched. She glanced around but there was nothing; all the shrubs and bushes were bare of foliage, hiding nothing.

  A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she felt a sense of panic rise within her. She was already breathing hard, but now it was as though her lungs would not let enough air in, and the adrenaline in her system turned her warm flesh cold in an instant.

  Abbie needed to be away from this place. She realised that she had to go back through the woods or else run for miles in a circle, taking the path in the opposite direction.

  She began walking, quickly scanning left to right, and then from a jogging pace developed into running, sprinting almost. This eerie, unsettled sensation seemed to all around her, she couldn’t shake it off; it seemed to hang in the air around her.

  She ran faster, picking up speed; she had to get out of there. Once back at the gate where she’d gone in, she stopped and looked behind her, but again apart from the wind rustling through the trees, all was still.

  Out of the woods, Abbie’s feelings of unease disappeared, so she decided not to go home but to continue running. She needed time to think, to get her thoughts together, and running would give her the brain space to do so.