by Lana Newton
‘I’m Dr Brown. Do you have an appointment?’ The therapist offered Claire her hand to shake. It felt warm and welcoming, just like her office. ‘No? Let’s see. How soon would you like to come in?’
‘As soon as possible.’
‘I can see you now, if you like. I had a cancellation. Otherwise I could fit you in next week.’
‘Now would be great.’
‘Please follow me.’
The therapist took Claire to a room behind the purple beads. It was sparsely furnished, with only a couch and an armchair facing each other. The smell of incense wasn’t as strong here. The room was filled with natural light and Claire could hear a quiet murmur of music.
‘Please, take a seat,’ said the therapist.
‘Thank you, Dr Brown.’ Claire relaxed into the couch, fighting a sudden impulse to close her eyes. It was the music, she realised. It made her eyelids droop.
‘Please call me Matilda. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Black, please.’
‘I don’t keep anything with caffeine here, I’m sorry. Hypnosis works best when you’re relaxed and not agitated. I can offer you some camomile.’ Claire nodded, terrified at how forward she had been, coming here so suddenly. She wondered if it was too late to turn back. Therapy meant talking about your life. And that was the last thing she wanted to do.
Matilda returned minutes later with a steaming teapot and two cups, placing them on a small table by the armchair. ‘It’s dreadfully cold outside, isn’t it? I wouldn’t want to be out and about.’
‘It is,’ agreed Claire, even though she hadn’t noticed. Her fingers were drumming a nervous rhythm on the edge of her cup.
‘What would you like to talk about today?’
Claire opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t say a word. To her dismay, she felt tears streaming down her cheeks. It was too much for one person to bear, all the tension of the past week and a half, the heartbreak and the uncertainty. All she could do was sob under Matilda’s understanding gaze.
‘Here, here,’ said the therapist, stroking her hand. ‘You take all the time in the world. Sip your tea. It’ll help you relax.’
Claire tried to compose herself. ‘I’m sorry, I’m such a mess.’ She took a sip of camomile. Matilda was wrong – it wasn’t calming at all. It would take more than tea to make her feel like herself again. Claire took another sip, just in case a miracle happened and it made her better, before placing her cup on the table.
‘You look like you could do with a shoulder to cry on. That’s what I’m here for. Feel free to tell me anything.’
‘Hypnosis … can it help recover lost memories?’ asked Claire, stalling for time, putting off the inevitable. If she could ask Matilda questions, she wouldn’t have to talk about herself. And then her time would be up and Matilda would be rushing her out of her office to make way for her next patient. Claire would be able to return home and … and what? One thing she knew for sure. She couldn’t go on as before or she would go mad.
‘Over time I believe it can, yes. Our mind is extremely powerful. Even when we think we’ve forgotten something, chances are it’s still there, under the surface, waiting to be found. Is there a particular event you’d like to remember?’
‘Only my whole life.’ Another sip of the hot tea, soothing music playing in the background. ‘What’s the difference between hypnosis and hypnotherapy? I thought they were the same thing.’
For a few seconds Matilda watched Claire carefully. Everything about the therapist seemed unhurried and relaxed, just like her music and her tea. ‘Hypnosis is an altered state of consciousness. It’s the drowsy state that precedes falling asleep, deep relaxation of body and mind. Hypnotherapy is the application of hypnosis.’
‘Is it like they show on TV? When people do bizarre things on stage and have no recollection of it afterwards?’
‘It’s nothing like that. When you’re under hypnosis, you are not under anyone’s control but in charge of your own emotions. You bypass your conscious mind and can speak to your subconscious mind directly. And often, with analytical hypnotherapy and regression therapy, a patient can remember something his or her mind has supressed.’
‘Regression therapy, isn’t it something to do with past lives?’ Claire vaguely remembered reading about it in one of the medical magazines at the hospital. She remembered thinking what nonsense it was.
‘It can be used to access childhood memories or remember previous incarnations. You do believe in reincarnation, don’t you?’
‘I wish I knew what I believed in. Truth is, I’ve forgotten everything about myself. Do you believe in reincarnation?’ asked Claire, thinking there was hope for her after all. If people could remember their previous lives, what was stopping her from remembering her current one? All she had to do was close her eyes and listen to Matilda’s voice. Matilda would guide her through the maze of her past.
‘It’s a tricky question. I’ve had patients experience vivid visions and emotions under hypnosis. Some were convinced what they saw was indeed their previous lives. But it could just as well have been an image from their subconscious mind, something they’ve seen or read, as a child perhaps. Something that had made a deep impression, only to be forgotten later.’
Claire felt her shoulders cave in, her eyes on the carpeted floor. It seemed even Matilda didn’t have the magic pill.
‘Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?’ asked Matilda, making a few notes. ‘How can I help?’
‘I was in an accident. I only remember what happened afterwards. Everything else is blank.’ She told Matilda about waking up in hospital, meeting her husband for the first time, about her home and her father.
‘You have bad dreams that scare you and you think they could have something to do with your past?’
‘Could it be possible?’
‘Anything is possible. Why don’t you lie down on the couch and make yourself comfortable? I would like to try an introductory session of hypnosis. We won’t go too deep and won’t look for answers just yet. Today is more about you familiarising yourself with the process of hypnosis, learning to trust me and your inner voice. How does that sound?’
Claire did what she had wanted to do since the moment she walked in – she stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes. The music was a little louder now, like a wave hitting the shore, rhythmic and comforting. And so was Matilda’s voice. ‘I want you to find a comfortable position, either sitting or lying down. Make sure your back is straight and your neck is supported. Feel free to move around at any time if it will make you feel more comfortable. Your subconscious mind is always active, absorbing thoughts and images. Become aware of your breathing. Take a couple of slow deep breaths. And now, as I count from ten to one, you will feel your body relax and your mind empty of thoughts. Ten … You feel every muscle in your body relaxing … Nine … Let go of stress and ignore fleeting thoughts or images … Eight … You drift in and out of consciousness … You are more and more relaxed …’
By the count of six Claire felt her body become heavier, as if it was filling with warm liquid. She had to make a conscious effort to stay awake. It was a scary feeling, this sensation of emptiness. It implied letting go of control, allowing someone else in.
‘If I ask you a question, feel free to answer or simply nod. Are you comfortable?’
Claire nodded.
‘Your mind is blocking your memories but that doesn’t mean they’re gone. Sometimes our mind plays tricks on us to protect us. Your memories are still there, and with time and patience you can access them again. You will access them again.’
How much time? Claire wanted to ask but couldn’t make her lips move.
‘Now I want you to imagine yourself in a happy and peaceful place where you feel safe. This might be somewhere you visited before or somewhere you just imagined. It could be at a beautiful beach or at home. Anywhere you like, as long as it’s peaceful and safe. Take your time and when you can think of your happy place, I want you
to tell me about it.’
With her eyes closed, Claire tried to imagine what it would be like to feel happy. The truth was, she didn’t know. She only knew what it felt like to feel lost and confused.
‘There is absolutely no rush,’ she heard Matilda’s measured voice. ‘This happy place doesn’t have to be real. You can create it in your mind. Think of somewhere beautiful and tranquil, somewhere where you would be safe. When you have found your happy place, nod and we will continue.’
Claire tried to think of rolling hills and peaceful forests. She tried to think of rivers that ran into the ocean, enormous and green and far away. She thought of her father’s smile and of the way he made her feel. Of coming home and meeting Molokai. Of laughing with Gaby. But instead of happiness, a wave of panic swept over her. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She could see the shadow from her nightmare, looming over her. She could sense its presence. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out and shot up on her couch. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I have to go.’
As fast as she could, she scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room, not turning back to see the look on Matilda’s face. What a terrible mistake it had been to come here. She needed to forget her dream, not dredge it out into the open. Instead of facing her demons, she needed to run away from them. She couldn’t think of her nightmare without feeling like the floor was about to open up and swallow her whole.
Faster and faster she walked past the shops and the buses, as if afraid Matilda would chase after her and force her to come back. As she was nearing home, she felt her pocket vibrating. Someone was calling her from an overseas number her phone didn’t recognise. She stared at it without blinking and then pressed the green button.
‘Claire? It’s Mum.’ Her mother’s voice was distant and faint, as if there was an ocean between them. But it was loud enough to fill Claire’s heart with hope.
‘Hi, Mum.’ Claire stood in the middle of the road, while cars swerved around her. She was crossing and forgot where she was going. When car brakes screeched and a man’s head appeared in the window, shouting ‘Get out of the way!’, she waddled off the road on unsteady legs and leaned on the wall of someone else’s house.
‘I called as soon as I could. How are you feeling?’
‘I’m fine. Where are you?’
‘Thank God! I’ve been so worried. I had to go away for a little while. Your Aunt Judy isn’t feeling well. Your dad told me what happened. What are the doctors saying?’
‘Nothing much. When are you coming home?’ This conversation baffled her. She thought she would know what to say to her mother, just like she had known what to say to her father when she’d first met him. But it wasn’t quite the case. Maybe if she could see her mother’s face, touch her mother’s hand, she would feel differently.
‘Soon, darling. Tell me everything. How have you been?’
‘Not great. I can’t remember anything. It’s been …’ She couldn’t find the right word. Terrifying, soul-destroying, lonely? She didn’t want to upset her mother but she didn’t want to lie to her, either.
‘I wish I could be there for you. I feel awful. I wish I could take you in my arms, make you feel better. My little girl.’
‘I wish you were here too. I keep having these dreams. And afterwards I feel afraid. Threatened. Someone is chasing me. Someone wants to hurt me. It’s terrifying. I am not myself. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.’ Her head in her hands, Claire was sobbing into the phone.
‘They are just dreams, darling. Probably because of the accident. I wouldn’t worry about them if I were you.’
‘They feel so real.’
‘Some dreams are like that. You need to concentrate on your recovery. Get plenty of rest, get better and soon you will remember everything. And before you know it, I will be with you.’ Angela continued to talk about how much she was missing her daughter, how Aunt Judy was driving her crazy with her unreasonable demands, and how she wished she could drop everything and get on the next plane to London. ‘But I can’t. The old dear doesn’t have anyone else. She’s all alone.’
So am I, Mum, Claire wanted to say. So am I.
‘I have to go, darling. Aunt Judy is waiting for her meds.’
‘Wait, Mum. I came back and I know nothing about my life. I have so many questions. I need to know about my marriage to Paul. Are we happy?’
‘As happy as anyone could be in a marriage, I suppose.’
Would no one give her a straight answer, not even her mother? ‘I don’t know what that means, Mum. What about you? Do you have a good relationship with Paul? Do you ever argue?’
‘I don’t want you to worry about that. It’s not important. Your health is what’s important.’
‘But I want to know.’
‘You’ve been through enough. You need to rest and do what makes you happy. You deserve that.’
‘Nothing makes me happy,’ Claire muttered, bewildered.
‘What, darling? I can hardly hear you. The line is terrible.’
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘Listen, darling, I have to rush. I’ll call you later, okay?’
‘I’m scared, Mum. I have no one to talk to.’ But Angela was already gone.
* * *
In her heart, Claire had believed Angela was a magic potion that would instantly cure her. She believed the moment she heard her mother’s voice, she would feel better. But it wasn’t quite the case. Having spoken to Angela only briefly, Claire was left wanting more. The more she thought about their conversation, the more questions she had. She dialled the international number that had come up on her phone over and over again but no one answered.
The next morning, Claire was in bed when she heard a knock on the door. Although she wasn’t asleep, or maybe because she hadn’t been able to sleep well at night, it was a struggle to sit up and force her eyes open. The door handle turned before she had a chance to tell the person on the other side to come in. In the dim morning light she saw Paul’s silhouette looming in the doorway. She felt a shiver of cold foreboding. What was he doing here so early? But when she glanced at the clock, she saw it was almost midday. What was he doing at home? It must be Saturday, she realised. The thought of being alone in the house with him all day made her want to scream.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Paul. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m not feeling well,’ she mumbled, wishing she could put her head under the pillow and pretend she was asleep, so she wouldn’t have to see him.
‘Two police officers are here. They want to talk to you.’
‘To me?’ Where was that pillow that could hide her away from the world?
‘Yes. Something about the accident.’
Shaking, she followed Paul to the living room. The two police officers were already there, looking comfortable on the couch, as if they belonged there, as if they were welcome. Claire suspected they were used to marching in uninvited. Their uniforms opened doors.
When they saw her, they stood up and invited her to join them, motioning towards the couch, like it was their house and she was the guest. She did what they said and sat down, as far away from them as possible.
‘We are sorry to intrude on the weekend,’ said the woman, not looking sorry at all. What was her name again? It was Polish, maybe? Claire tried to visualise the card she had placed in her bedside table after having spoken to them at the hospital. PC Kamenski and PC Stanley, she remembered. The ginger twins. She was surprised the names came to her so quickly. If only she could remember the rest of her life as easily.
‘That’s fine. You’re not intruding.’
‘We have a few questions about the accident.’
‘I wish I could help you,’ Claire said. Paul was hovering nearby with a cup of coffee. She lowered her voice. ‘But I still don’t remember anything about the accident.’
‘Nothing at all?’ The woman seemed disappointed. The man was making notes in his notepad and looked indifferent.
&n
bsp; Claire shook her head.
‘We spoke to your father. Something in his account doesn’t add up,’ said the man, studying her coldly.
He waited for Claire to say something. She cleared her throat. ‘My father is confused. He’s been through a lot. He might be suffering from memory loss himself. He doesn’t remember me being in the car with him but that doesn’t mean …’
‘On the contrary. Your father told us he was taking you horse-riding. It’s a family tradition the two of you share.’
‘He told you that?’ She watched them in silence for a few moments, wondering if they were playing some kind of a game to get her to confess … to what? What they were saying was impossible. Tony was adamant she wasn’t in the car with him. Why would he tell the police something different?
‘Your father told us you were in the front seat of the car, next to him. That you were talking about a holiday you were planning as a family when he lost control of the vehicle,’ said PC Kamenski.
‘And?’
The woman didn’t reply but studied Claire’s face as if looking for clues.
‘Were you in the front seat, Mrs Wright?’ asked PC Stanley.
‘I told you. I don’t remember. I assume so. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Do you often travel without your seatbelt on?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’
‘Why would your father tell us you were in the front seat next to him when we pulled you out of the back seat? Can you think of a reason?’
Claire could feel the blood rushing away from her face. She could feel her cheeks paling, her heart beating, faster-faster, like wings ready for take-off. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember,’ she repeated.
Paul burst into the room, stern and foreboding. He towered over the police with his arms crossed. ‘Excuse me, officers,’ he said. ‘My wife’s been through a lot. She hasn’t been well. I think it’s best if you leave.’
They got up to their feet ‘That’s okay. We have no further questions. Goodbye, Mrs Wright.’
She muttered something in return; she might have waved, she wasn’t sure. For the first time that she could remember, she was grateful to her husband.
