I Choose You

by Gayle Curtis

  Do I suffer from mental health issues? How can I, when I live the life I planned? There is no crack in my armour, I have no need to indulge in any frivolous activity – time is all too precious. Mental illness is sickness of the mind caused by the constant overwhelming battle one has with one’s essence, beliefs and purpose.

  When will you ever learn? There isn’t time to wonder about things we can never understand; issues that are an extension of our surroundings. Live what’s in your head, without thought or contemplation. There is a magnetism that leads us to the right way, the pushing and pulling of a life force.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  NOW

  As soon as Nathaniel saw the missed call from Elise on his phone, he knew there was something wrong. Every time he called her mobile it went straight to voicemail. Nathaniel drove round to Ray’s, an acidic nausea scraping his throat. He just had the feeling this was it; there was a finality hanging in the air amidst his panic. Nathaniel pulled into the driveway praying Elise had decided to get a taxi home.

  Running up the steps leading to Ray’s front door, Nathaniel attempted to push the door open, but it was locked on the latch. His hand hovered over the bell as he pressed redial on his phone, and that’s when he heard the striking sound of a gunshot splintering the bleak atmosphere. It was so loud, Nathaniel thought the sky was collapsing around him and he ducked briefly. The birds seemed to have been shocked into silence and the traffic sounded like it was passing in slow motion. This slow motion that had appeared around him suddenly accelerated as Nathaniel bashed at the door while he called 999. There was no way of getting around the back – the high gate was locked – so he ran along the front of the house to see if any of the windows were unlocked, trying to find a way in, then back up the steps to the front door. Sirens burst into the atmosphere like fireworks, and Nathaniel seemed to zone out. He didn’t need to be told his wife was dead. And then he heard the click of the front door opening and there stood Elise, her face ashen, hair dishevelled. Clasped to her chest, her fingers splayed like a spider, was a handgun.

  Elise’s eyes stared right through Nathaniel; her mind appeared to be lost in another world as she lifted the gun to her head, pulling the trigger before he had a chance to stop her.

  Later that night, after finally arriving back at the house, with the ridiculous idea he would sleep, Nathaniel got up from the sofa and went in search of the letters that he’d found in Ida’s doll’s house. Nathaniel hadn’t shown them to Elise; he’d been so frightened of her reading them, scared the content might push her over the edge, throw her back into the addiction that had practically destroyed them all. Nathaniel opened one but decided to put it back in the envelope. He left them on the kitchen table, for Elise to read when she was ready. He had to let go, he was holding on to her too tightly. Nathaniel began to wonder if it was why she had always had a compulsion to end her life – because he was suffocating her.

  There was an old boat moored in the river at the bottom of the garden when they’d bought the house, and Elise had made Nathaniel replace it, like for like, when it had practically sunk into the muddy silt of the riverbank. When they’d first moved in, they’d spent a few evenings on it, talking about their plans together, trying to weave a new life so that they would have something to live for, a reason to keep going for their remaining children.

  Sitting out in that boat now, the bright light of the moon illuminating everything around him whenever the dark, silver-edged clouds crept past, Nathaniel wondered if he had died and was in some kind of limbo he couldn’t escape. The one small hope he had, the one little spark that had kept him going, was that his sons might come home soon. There hadn’t been a successful adoption for Buddy, and Miles was still with temporary foster parents.

  As the clouds parted company again, Nathaniel looked up to see a figure standing on the riverbank beside him. He reached out and grasped Elise’s hands, steadying her as she climbed on to the boat.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Okay . . . I think.’

  The boat abruptly stopped swaying as they sat down on the wooden seats. It was a long time before either of them spoke again, but then the questions Nathaniel needed to ask her seemed to be spilling from his mouth.

  ‘Did you know that gun was empty?’ Nathaniel held her gaze.

  It was a few moments before she answered. ‘No . . . I’m sorry, I really am so sorry.’ Elise reached forward and grasped his hand.

  ‘Have you any idea what that was like for me, Elise?’ The vision flashed before his eyes again, as he was sure it would do for years to come.

  ‘I’m truly sorry. It was everything all at once and I just lost it for that moment . . .’

  ‘I know . . .’ Nathaniel couldn’t stay angry with her; there was a huge part of him feeling a massive wave of compassion. ‘I need to ask you something . . . did you kill Ingrid?’

  ‘No. No I did not.’ Elise stared into the water, avoiding Nathaniel’s gaze. ‘Maybe I wish I had.’

  ‘When did you realise who she was? God, you must have been so scared, Elise.’

  ‘Not really.’ Elise let go of Nathaniel’s hand and allowed her fingers to dance around in the water. ‘I started to have an idea when DC Chilvers called and said they’d discovered some new information about Ida’s death and were looking for Sonny. DC Chilvers had mentioned Benjamin Tilney to me on the phone, the little boy who had disappeared from the farm when his father was murdered . . .’

  Nathaniel nodded, remembering he’d read the article and thought it was strange the body of the boy had never been found.

  ‘DC Chilvers told me Ingrid had changed his name to Sonny after she’d taken him away the night she’d shot his father, John – her last suicide victim. She took the little boy back to Ray’s house and told Ray what she’d done, begged him to help her. Ray knew of a couple desperate for a child, and he arranged an adoption of sorts for Sonny . . . or Ben. That’s when they faked her suicide and Dad took Ingrid back to Norway. That’s how much my father loved her.’

  ‘It’s just unbelievable,’ Nathaniel said.

  ‘I found a photograph of both our mothers in Ray’s wallet and I started to piece a few things together, although I didn’t know for sure. I just remembered odd things from when I was a child – she often travelled on the train but never said where she was going, I used to find the train tickets in the bin when I got home from school, and I knew she had a gun because she’d shut herself in the bathroom with it on more than one occasion. I could hear her talking but can’t recall the content, apart from the odd sentence. I didn’t really know the truth until she stood in front of me holding two revolvers.’

  ‘What made her think Sonny did anything to Ida?’

  ‘She worked it out when Ray visited her and told her what had happened when he’d found Ida. She wanted Sonny to play the game; she knew he’d fail and ask to be shot. Then she turned the gun on herself.’ Nathaniel could see Elise’s eyes glistening with tears.

  ‘I’m so sorry, it’s just awful.’ Nathaniel reached out for her hand.

  ‘Sonny was already dead when I got there. Ingrid made me go into Dad’s office, and Sonny was just sitting there, behind his desk, gun lying on the floor.’ Elise raised two fingers to the side of her head. ‘Bang.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Elise.’

  ‘All she said to me was he got what he deserved. Then that was it. Can you believe that’s all my mother would say to me after all these years?’

  ‘Try not to dwell on it. You’re safe and that’s all that matters.’

  They sat silently for a while, taking it all in. Elise was biologically related to the person who had caused all this pain, to so many people, and they’d never known.

  ‘There are some letters from Ingrid on the table. I found them in Ida’s doll’s house.’

  ‘The ones Ingrid wrote to Ida?’ Elise asked.

  Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably in the boat, making it sway. ‘No. They’re from Ingrid, posted to
Ray, although she hasn’t addressed them to anyone in particular.’

  ‘What’s the content?’

  It was a couple of moments before Nathaniel answered; he knew that Elise would work out the truth once she’d read them. ‘They were about her victims. I think Ida probably found them in Ray’s office, they were hidden in the roof of the doll’s house.’

  ‘Dad hasn’t mentioned them. Why didn’t you hand them in to the police?’

  ‘You’ll see why when you’ve read them. I think you’ll understand it all better.’ Nathaniel squeezed Elise’s hand. ‘Will Ray be released now?’

  ‘DC Chilvers said he’ll probably have to serve the rest of his sentence for trafficking, and then the courts will decide on a sentence for aiding and abetting. He certainly won’t be serving the sentence he originally received.’ Elise squeezed Nathaniel’s hand, letting him know she was coming back to him, the way they used to be. ‘You know, I always knew he hadn’t hurt Ida. He would never do that. It was obvious it was Sonny, when you think about it.’

  ‘It was too obvious, actually. And when you’re that close to someone, you can’t see it . . .’ Nathaniel fell silent, his thoughts returning to the letters.

  ‘He wanted to hurt Ray and Ingrid,’ Elise said, ‘and didn’t believe the justice system would be punishment enough. Because Ida had been following the family tree, she’d worked out Sonny wasn’t related to them and confronted him about it. My poor father.’ She shook her head.

  It wasn’t the right time to point out that her father had lied to Elise for most of her life, and that Nathaniel was suspicious that Ray had known everything – that he’d had something to do with all the other victims. He was struggling to believe one person could coerce anyone into a game that ended in death.

  ‘Ray really loved her.’ Elise seemed to be talking to the sky.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I just don’t think he could let her go, but he couldn’t be with her.’

  Following her gaze upwards, Nathaniel couldn’t help feeling a tug in his own stomach, her words ringing true with their own situation.

  Sensing she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, Nathaniel nodded, knowing she would tell him when she was ready. For now, he could only speculate what had happened in Ray’s office earlier that day between Elise and Ingrid, or exactly what had happened to Ida on her last birthday, that 29th of February, the day that shouldn’t exist. His head was spinning with all the events of that day, and he’d barely had time to think about any of it in detail. He was sure more revelations would come to light over the following months.

  Before Elise went back to bed, she handed Nathaniel a letter. ‘You should read this – it’ll help you. Ingrid gave it to me before she died. I’m sorry about your mother.’

  Nathaniel embraced her while she sobbed.

  ‘You should have this too.’ Elise pulled a small photograph from her back pocket. ‘I found it in Ray’s wallet.’

  Once she had gone to bed, Nathaniel sat down to look at the photograph and read the letter she’d handed him. His mother and her lover, Ingrid – the only picture he’d ever seen of Anna looking genuinely happy.

  The letter Elise had given him wasn’t postmarked like the ones he’d found in the doll’s house. Instead, Elise was written across the front of the envelope. Nathaniel took a deep breath and pulled the folded paper from its sleeve, and began to read.

  Dear Elise,

  Sometimes I wonder if I was born at the wrong time, as if my conception could have been prevented. I imagine my mother was waiting to jump off a moving train and kept missing the moment, and the result of this hesitation was catastrophe. She had an affair with a married man; that’s how I know I was produced at the wrong time. My mother’s sins became tangible in the form of a person. Me.

  This misplacement has continued. It has to, you see, because once you are displaced, everyone else is out of kilter. And then I had this beautiful little girl with such a startling heritage I wondered often if I could shunt us all back into line by eradicating my physical self. Ray and I would often discuss my mental fracture. That’s how the lines appeared on his handsome face; they are full of the perplexities inside my head. I know what’s wrong with me, or maybe it’s what’s right with me. He’s become too involved and that’s not how it was supposed to be. I don’t need someone to find a solution, I just need to understand myself in a better way.

  Everything changed when you appeared, and it was then that I felt like two separate people. I’ve been apologising for my presence since I can remember, tentatively moving through life. And I say presence instead of existence because it’s quieter, more of a whisper. A shush, a nervous cough, an uncomfortable clearing of the throat, that’s what I represented as a child. Now I feel solid, louder, more alive, the constant need to apologise for my existence has lifted but then I had this fragile little person to care for, nurture, and I just didn’t know how. My little Elise, a tiny stranger, a small misnomer.

  This is where I am, where I know I am, and finally, in the place where I should be. Now. I could tell you this is the end, but it isn’t, it’s simply just the beginning. Perhaps it’s a difficult concept for you to grasp, but you can, if you just look beyond my old frame, past the wilted skin, the strained eyes, grey hair. My soul will move on to a new life and I will start again, in a new guise, with the same intention. That’s all any of us can hope to do, I think.

  We met in the psychiatric hospital, your father and I – that’s where it all began. He was a newly qualified psychiatrist, due to get married to a woman he met at university. I was the legal representative for some of the patients and their families. It wasn’t supposed to happen – I know everyone says that – but it wasn’t. Life is like that; we never learn to embrace the unexpected, always afraid to peer around that corner, in case what we see doesn’t meet our expectations, living life tentatively on tiptoe.

  The game had started well before we met, although there were no significant participants at that time, no victims as you like to call them – just potentials. You’d have thought we were complete opposites – his ideas were straight from a textbook – but he wasn’t so very different to me once he loosened the restraints of his university indoctrination. Questions were asked, conversations started, and he shifted from being my travelling companion to a possible participant, to very quickly becoming my lover. Shortly after this I decided never to cross that line again, but of course ‘never’ is a ridiculous word. There is always a shift, a tilt in one’s footing – position, if you like – within the confines of a relationship. And being a psychiatrist, it was within him to want to find a solution to what he saw as a problem. Therein lies the conflict, because there was no problem from my point of view. He helped me, there was no doubt about it, and it was something I needed, entirely due to the type of world we live in. My ideas were too advanced, beyond most people’s comprehension. I’m not in any way suggesting my mind is or ever has been on any level of genius, but my notions for this period of time were too radical and he understood that. I was, had always been, out of time, out of sync, out of kilter with the rotation of the earth. Because, quite simply, I wasn’t supposed to be here. My mother wasn’t being cruel when she said that – she was absolutely right, one just doesn’t realise in what capacity, the context in which she was saying it. Displaced, that’s what I was. And once you accept you’re dislocated from everyone else, life becomes a whole lot easier.

  It was simpler for me to be dead and I did intend to kill myself that day, I felt so guilty about that little boy, but in the last few seconds before I fired the gun, my nerve was lost. Maybe it was because I wasn’t ready; I had more to do in my life. Who knows. To anyone who knew me, I died that day in the bathroom and no one ever knew who I was. I wasn’t prepared to alter, not for anyone, not even for my own flesh and blood. It’s in you, the essence of who you are. What is the point of pretending to be someone you’re not? It would surely be an insult to your existence. If i
t were the case for me, I may as well have been one of those people who were shot. Well, I would have, there’s no doubt about it. A moment of weakness, grieving for my soulmate, my quixotic paramour, Anna. And I wanted to punish, to hurt myself. It warmed me to discover you married Anna’s son, Nathaniel.

  Dear Elise, you were always going to be better off with one fully functioning parent, and my absence offered you that. I shared something with you almost every day of your life. I was always there, in the background, you just couldn’t see me. It is so important to me that you understand all this. I’ve never cared until now. I am aware this is all quite possibly too late.

  I am signing off now as your mother, as Ingrid, fellow anonymous, a no one, some nemo, the Suicide Watcher.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  THEN

  The rain began to sheet down as Ida stomped across the playing field, towards her grandfather’s house, her coat pulled over her head to protect her hair. She thought Alistair had wanted to meet her to apologise, and now she was furious with him.

  ‘Ida!’ Alistair shouted after her. ‘Come on, we can sort this out!’

  ‘Leave me alone, Alistair!’ Ida turned in his direction but carried on walking. ‘Seriously, just leave me alone.’

  Alistair stopped mid-stride, weighing up if he should follow her or return to the cricket pavilion. He chose the latter.

  A few days before, they’d been giggling at YouTube videos in her bedroom, and now everything had changed. As Ida had told him, in half an hour he had destroyed their relationship. Their friendship had shifted into something else, and lying on the bed together after school, as they had done for years, meant something else entirely. Now he felt guilty, even though he wasn’t sure he’d done anything wrong. Had he done anything wrong? They’d started kissing and it had quickly escalated into them both being naked. He hadn’t heard her say no, didn’t remember putting his hand over her mouth, and couldn’t recall holding her wrists above her head. Why had she agreed to meet him after school today, if he’d done all those things to her? Alistair recalled the words she’d spat at him, after she’d quietly dressed herself in his bedroom and he’d offered to make her a cup of tea.